The Jewel of Delhi
by Jurana Keri
Summary: Alfred, a freshman in college, is recruited to a summer archaeology program with Arthur, Francis, Ivan, and his roommate Matthew Williams and sent to China. However, the course of events change by one particular obstacle that instead lands them in India, where Alfred and his new friends experience the adventure of a lifetime. A tale of adventure, suspense, and romance.
1. Chapter 1

Alfred sat with trepidation as he listened to the semester's final speeches regarding various historical subjects. He looked down at his paper, struggling to memorize what he had written as he worried about his grades in his major class. As a world history major, Alfred's grades were well on their way down the toilet—oh yes, they were _that_ bad, but it was only due to the fact that he spent most of his time in his freshman year partying or pulling pranks that often got him in trouble.

He loved pulling pranks so much, his favorite being the time when he made caramel-covered onions and gave them to his professor, Mr. Williams. It was right after class one day when he took them out of his bag and placed them on a paper plate he had taken from the cafeteria. He let out a giggle before going up to the professor, but it was still difficult to keep a straight face when giving him the disgusting treat.

"Can I help you, Mr. Jones?" he asked, clasping his hand together primly as he looked down at the plate of "candy apples". They had chocolate shavings on them to make them look even more appetizing, and Alfred smiled at him, the laughter still buried inside of him.

"Professor Williams, I am just giving you these to show you that I really appreciate that extra credit," Alfred had said. "So, I made these candy apples for you."

"That's so nice of you!" the professor said, taking the plate and bringing them to his desk in the front of the room. "You are very welcome!"

The thought of this memory calmed Alfred's nerves when his turn finally came. He was so nervous, but he tried to look confident as he walked up to the stage behind the podium. He adjusted the microphones and looked at Professor Williams and Dean Gregory, and he began speaking.

"So, uh…I did research on how the British didn't want to get out of our colonies. I'm talking, of course, about the American Revolution," he began. The professor looked at him, as did the dean, with disapproval of his nonchalant attitude as he continued speaking.

"So, as you all probably know, British people settled in Virginia in the early 1600's, but then in Massachusetts. After about a hundred years or so, the French paired up with Indians to fight with the colonists over land in the OhioValley because they wanted to control fur-trapping. The British, of course, kicked their butts and claimed it for themselves. Then, in the 1770's, the colonists said, '_that's enough! We want independence_,' so they fought with the British and finally got back at their sorry selves. Then, this guy named George Washington comes along and plays the role of general in an army that was entirely made up of colonists, but still, they had enough determination to outlast the British and defeat them," Alfred explained, rapidly and nervously. "Then, the Constitution was made, saying that all men are created equally and that we could do whatever we want. Like me, for example, I am free to fulfill my dream of becoming an archaeologist! YEE-HAW!"

The audience of classmates fell silent upon his emphasis on his last words. Eyebrows raised, people whispered things about his casually-done speech about an American history topic, and as for the professor and dean, they both began conversing about an entirely different topic.

"An archaeologist, huh?" the dean wondered, looking at the young man on stage, who stood there wordlessly.

"Yeah, I don't know how he'll achieve such a goal," the professor whispered back to him. "He's a clown. Did I mention he was the one who caused my hospital visit for an allergic reaction?"

"Was that the prank he played with the caramel onions?" Dean Gregory asked.

"Um, yes. It wasn't pleasant, because I'm allergic to onions," Professor Williams said. "Just for that, I docked his GPA down by one grade."

"Are you sure? He probably had no idea you were allergic, professor," the dean suggested. "It was probably only a harmless prank."

"Not only did it taste horrible, but it made me very sick. Do you know what it's like to lay in a hospital bed with your face swollen like a watermelon?" Professor Williams said emphatically.

"No," he answered. "I still think he'd be a good candidate for our archaeology program this summer. It seems like a good way to reach his goal."

"Humph," the professor responded, standing up to address Alfred onstage. "Is that all, Mr. Jones?"

"Yes, it is, sir," Alfred answered, smiling brightly at him.

"Alright, take your seat," he said, sitting down to jot down some final notes in his memo pad. The dean looked at him as he wrote, but the professor looked back at him slowly.

"Yes, Dean Gregory?" he asked, his attention finally caught.

"We should definitely speak to that young man after class about the program," he suggested.

"No! Are you crazy?" he whispered forcefully, placing his pen in the spiral gently.

"Professor," the dean began. "He's a good candidate, and we already have candidates from England, France, Russia, and even another student at this very college has made it in. It's a very good group, and this year they are headed to Asia."

"Yeah, that sounds good," the professor said. "But I still don't know. His grades are close to the edge of the frying pan, and they'll be in the fire in no time!"

"Look at it this way, Professor Williams," Dean Gregory whispered calmly. "He'll be out of your hair for quite a while, and who knows? Maybe this will make him a more serious person?"

The professor stroked his brown, bearded chin as he thought about it. _Ah, a summer without that clown_, he thought with delight as he pictured Alfred boarding a plane with a bunch of other young men to Asia. Then again, all students would be away for the summer—what good would it be to him?

"Summer is when _all_ students go home, dean," the professor said. "Is there any way you could send them earlier?"

"No, I'm afraid not," the dean said. "The plane leaves on June 25th with or without him."

The tall, well-built Dean Gregory stood up and walked out of the auditorium as Professor Williams thought about his proposal. _Hmm, it wouldn't be so bad_, he thought, _maybe the kid could do something good with his life rather than slacking off or pulling dangerous pranks. Ah, it would be heaven_.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. Jones," Professor Williams said as he stood up from his seat in the auditorium. The bell had rung, and class was out for the day. Alfred was already among his fellow classmates in a line going out the door, but his sky blue eyes diverted to the professor, who was staring at him with a form of reluctance in his face—Professor Williams took the dean's advice and used it to his advantage and for his own benefit, and he was going to tell him about the archaeology program at the university.

"You wanted to see me, Professor W?" the young man asked, walking toward the middle-aged man rapidly. "What did I do now?"

"You didn't do anything, Alfred," Professor Williams told him. "Also, please refer to me as 'Williams.'"

"Alright, alright," Alfred sighed, nodding his head as the man continued. Before he could speak, Dean Gregory came to the classroom and stood in the doorway, happy that the professor took his advice in informing the young man of a great opportunity to pursue his dream.

"Good afternoon," he said, walking in slowly with his hands tucked into the canary yellow slacks that matched his suit jacket. "Professor Gregory, Mr. Jones, it's nice to see you both. Alfred, I saw your speech in class today."

"I know. I saw you in the audience with this fine fellow," the young man said, schmoozing as he gestured to Professor Williams.

"Yes, about your speech," Dean Gregory continued. "It was very…uh…insightful! Yes, insightful!"

"Really?" Alfred asked, assuring that he really did do a good job. The professor looked at the dean blankly, but in his dark brown eyes, uncertainty was visible. "Thanks, dean! I'm glad I could enlighten you. In fact, I got straight-A's in my high school history classes!"

"We get the point, Mr. Jones," the professor said, as if he were trying to shut him up before he could start talking with a large amount of meaningless words.

Alfred F. Jones was nineteen years old, but had the maturity level of a ten year-old boy, at least to Professor Williams. His childlike appearance also conveyed this to anyone who would come across him in public. He had a darker shade of blond hair than most, and his eyes were the color of a clear sky at daybreak—they were so blue they were noticeable from just a few feet away. At five foot-nine, Alfred was handsome, but his looks only charmed because of their childlike wonder. As jovial and well-meaning as he was, he tended to get in trouble for pranks or his nonchalant, carefree attitude.

"Alfred, your professor and I have discussed something about your future," the dean said. With this, the young man looked at him with worry. _Oh no_, he thought frantically, _am I on academic probation? Are they kicking me out? Oh, wait Alfred! Think positive! Maybe it's a good thing he's going to tell me? Oh God, I better listen!_

"Yes, dean?" Alfred asked nervously, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as his palms grew sweatier by the minute. The dean looked at him with a serene expression, intriguing the young man even more about what he had planned to tell him.

"An archaeologist. Is that what you want to be?" he asked, moving closer to the young man. Alfred showed his  
pearly, white teeth as he smiled at the thought.

"YES! Yes, I do! It has been a lifelong dream to travel and discover things!" he answered excitedly.

The dean giggled at his anticipative reaction as he walked to the professor's desk, picking up the fresh copy of the daily Washington Post. He unfolded it and flipped to the World Events section, turning to the recent event about how a group of archaeologists led by the renowned Walter Meyer, whom Alfred admired so much, discovered the tomb of an ancient Chinese prince near the Yangtze River. Black and white photos of some artifacts were shown in the newspaper, as well as the prince's corpse covered in a suit of pristine white jade.

"Hmm," the dean began. The professor just stared at his co-worker, then at his student. "_Meyer Unearths Ancient Chinese Tomb Near Yangtze_," he said, reading the title of the article on the top of the page, looking at Alfred with a smirk.

"Yes! Walter Meyer! I know who that guy is! He's my idol!" Alfred said frantically with excitement. It faded within a matter of seconds. "Wait, what does _he_ have to do with my future?"

"Mr. Jones, Dean Gregory thinks you should…" Professor William's reluctance and pessimism got the best of him, but he still continued. "Well, _we _think you should join the university's archaeology program!"

Alfred's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, his smiling mouth showing his great satisfaction. He began to look at Dean Gregory happily, walking up to him and placing his hands on the man's large shoulders.

"I…what? Repeat what you just told me!" he commanded.

"GeorgeWashingtonUniversity is having an archaeology program, and I, well, _we_ think you are a good candidate for the trip to China to learn more about the artifacts and possibly help with finding more!" the dean said. "It'll be so good for you, considering you are an…_enthusiastic_ history major here." The professor could not believe he was letting someone like Alfred just go to Asia when his grades were on the brink of failure, but he knew that he'd feel better without him and his annoying behavior. Still, he just played along with the charade that gave Alfred the impression that he deserved it.

"Wow! Seriously! I'll meet Walter Meyer?!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, I believe so," the dean replied.

In an ecstatic frenzy, Alfred wrapped his arms so tightly around Dean Gregory that he began gasping for air. The young man, however, laughed and didn't pay any attention to his signal to let go.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Alfred squealed, hugging the man even tighter. Professor Williams walked over and tapped the young man on the shoulder, and promptly, Alfred let the dean go; he was breathing so heavily for a few moments, but then he continued talking.

"I'm sorry, dean," he told him. "I'm just so excited!"

"It's alright," Dean Gregory told Alfred. "Well, I guess I should tell you that there will be others on the trip."

"Like who?" Alfred questioned, eager to hear more.

"There are candidates from here, England, France, and Russia. Do you know Matthew Williams?" he replied.

"Yes! He's my roommate, actually. We are friends, but nobody really notices him," Alfred told him.

"Oh," the dean said, raising his eyebrows. "Well, the plane leaves on June 25th, and the trip is for four weeks."

"Cool! I can't wait!" the young man said, walking away from the two men. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

As the young man left the classroom, Professor Williams slowly approached Dean Gregory with ginger slowness. Their eyes met, and the professor looked at the dean strangely.

"Are you sure about this, Dean Gregory? Seems as though the kid has lost his mind," the professor said with sheer reluctance.

"Yes, I am. He'll be out of your hair in no time!" Dean Gregory replied.

Meanwhile, Alfred had already exited the building and met up with roommate and friend, Matthew. The two were alike in appearance—Matthew also had dirty blond hair, but his eyes were a darker shade of blue and they were as less noticeable as he was. Though he bore a kind heart, Matthew had a shy demeanor due to the fact that everyone ignored and misunderstood him. If he was in his college classroom among a bunch of classmates, he wouldn't be noticed even if he raised his hand to speak. Alfred always tried to encourage his friend to get more involved, and also, in order to be a good friend, he always did his part to introduce him to a group of people even if they failed to notice his presence afterwards. Now, it was one in the afternoon, and the two were hungry for lunch.

"Hey, want to stop by the burger place? They have a lunchtime special! You can get three double-pound cheeseburgers for two bucks!" Alfred said with excitement as he nudged his friend's arm persuasively.

"No, I'd rather have pizza or soup," Matthew said in his calm, soft-spoken voice. "Can't we just go to the pizza parlor?"

"No, I don't care for pizza! I could live off burgers for the rest of my life," the folly young man responded, disagreeing with his friend.

"Eh, what if there are other things to eat at the burger place? Like chicken tenders? A sub? Or even a seafood dish, even?" Matthew suggested, trying to sway Alfred from his obsession with burgers.

"Nah, get what you want," he said, pulling out money. "I'll get what _I _want."

Gus' Burger Stop was one of the most popular hangouts in their part of Washington, DC, where GeorgeWashingtonUniversity was located. Besides serving the best burgers in the city at affordable prices, they served other delectable dishes and even had a small arcade area where Alfred and Matthew would spend two hours a day to amuse themselves after the day's classes ended. Upon entering, the two sat at the busy counter, and were approached by the waitress, Ruby.

Ruby, her real name being Wilma Blair, had been well-acquainted with Alfred and Matthew, and she always knew about Alfred's obsession with burgers and soda. An African-America woman in her late forties, she had smooth brown skin with her black, coarse hair always tied in a tight bun. Everybody called her Ruby because of her outfits—her work uniform consisted of a bright red dress with a white frilly apron over it for aesthetic purposes. She smiled upon seeing Alfred, and took out her pen and pad of paper to write down their orders.

"Well, if it ain't The Hero! What can I get ya today, sugar?" Ruby asked.

"I'll have the lunch time burger special," Alfred said with a smile. Matthew was yet again unnoticed in this crowded burger place.

"Hmm, three double-pound burgers," Ruby said, jotting it down on her pad. "Can you handle it?" Alfred laughed, understanding her joke—she knew he loved burgers a lot.

"Hell, I scoffed down seven in one sitting once," he reminded her. "And I'll have a large soda with that, if you can."

"Oh, yes I can," she answered. Matthew tapped his friend's shoulder and he turned around—Ruby finally noticed him sitting there.

"Oh, yeah! Your friend! I'm sorry, Hero!" she said, giggling with embarrassment. "What can I get you?"

"Uh…a medium chicken tenders with a medium soda," he answered.

"That's all?" Ruby asked.

"Yes, thank you," Matthew said.

As the waitress walked to place their order slip on the spinner to the kitchen, the two waited for their food to be served to them so they could take it to an empty booth seat. Alfred's excitement grew, his mouth watering as he smelled the aroma of the juicy beef, tasty cheese, fresh lettuce and ripe tomatoes in his burgers as Matthew took his food. Luckily there was one booth seat left—all the rest had been taken up. Upon sitting, Alfred began devouring his burgers as if he were a wild dog. In fact, he always ate like that, much to the dismay of others. Sometimes, he would stop in before class and pick up a burger or two to eat in the middle of Professor Williams' lectures, leading to him being lectured himself for his unhealthy habits and unconventional eating times.

"MMMM!" Alfred said, moaning as he ate his food. "So good!"

"Alfred, do you ever concern yourself with your health?" Matthew asked. "In my biology class, we're learning about fats. Don't you realize you could get a heart attack if you keep eating the way you do?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. I just need soda to balance it out, that's all," he said casually, sipping some Coke from his straw.

"Coke? Really? Alfred, you're not going to reach thirty if you keep eating like this," Matthew protested. "I only tell you because I care."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," Alfred said. "Besides, I have never gained a pound from all the burgers I eat. I'm happy."

"It's a wonder," his friend said with a sigh. "You have great metabolism."

"Thanks, dude," Alfred said. "Hey, so the dean pulled me aside today about an archaeology program at the university. There are a couple of guys from around the world who are going to China."

"Yeah! I'm going on that trip. I was picked," Matthew said.

"He told me, and I am SUPER EXCITED! We get to meet Walter Meyer! He was the one who discovered Celtic burial grounds under Stonehenge! Can you believe it? Maybe I can drop out of here and become a _real_ archaeologist like him, working by his side and going on adventures with him," Alfred said, his mind going in a daze.

"Um…yeah," Matthew said, taking a few bites of his food.

"I'd love to meet him. He's literally the _best_ archaeologist ever!" the young man added.

"I don't know, though. No one will notice me, and no one will even care too look for me if I am not on the plane," his friend said with apprehension.

"Dude, it'll be fun! Hell, it's a wonder Professor W is letting me go. My grades suck right now," Alfred said. "But I'm still taking the opportunity. At least the dean likes me. We'll have fun, man!"


	3. Chapter 3

"We're going to China in _that_?" Alfred said as he looked at the small airplane.

June had come so quickly, and Alfred, along with Matthew, was so excited he thought he would die. However, the sight of the small, somewhat dilapidated airplane made him apprehensive about the trip, but he got his mind off it when the image of meeting Walter Meyer in person put an optimistic smile on his face.

"Mr. Jones, may I introduce to you your group members?" Dean Gregory said, prompting the young man to turn around and look at everybody.

Alfred didn't fail to notice that every guy in their group had blond hair, but the shade was different on each man. Both the Frenchman and Englishman had lighter shades, while the one from Russia had hair that was so blond it was nearly white.

"Everybody, this is Alfred Jones from GeorgeWashingtonUniversity in Washington, DC," the dean said, introducing him to the group. Alfred gasped, pointing at Matthew. _How dare he forget him_, he thought.

"Hey! What about Matthew? He's going on the trip, too!" he said.

"Oh yes! I am so sorry, Mr. Williams," he said, bringing him forward. "Also from GeorgeWashingtonUniversity is Matthew Williams. So, let's get to everybody else, shall we?"

The dean walked toward the foreigners, who looked as though they were in a line staring at Alfred and Matthew. Dean Gregory gestured to each group member as he spoke.

"This here is Arthur Kirkland from King's College in London," he said, gesturing to a young man wearing an army green button up shirt with a pair of dark blue denim jeans. His hair was a yellow shade of blond, but it was strangely natural. His eyes were green and lively, but what stuck out to Alfred most were his thick, bushy eyebrows. The chap smiled at the two friends, waving.

"Hello," he said.

"Hey!" Alfred responded.

"Francis from the University of Paris in France," the dean continued. Francis was a rather comely young man with shoulder-length blond hair, facial hair on his chin, and dark blue, emotional eyes. He was clad in a shirt made of delicate fabric, gray slacks, and a pair of black leather boots.

"Bonjour!" he said, blowing a kiss at Alfred and Matthew. This made him slightly uncomfortable as his attention got distracted by the final group member.

"Last but not least, Ivan Braginsky from Russia's St. Petersburg University," the dean said finally.

Alfred and Matthew's jaws dropped and their eyes widened at the really tall young man standing before them. He had platinum blond hair and strangely-colored indigo blue eyes, and around his neck was a plain beige scarf that didn't quite match his pinstripe button-down shirt and black slacks. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb among the group members because of his tall stature and funny-looking scarf.

"Hello, I'm Ivan. It's good to meet you and I look forward to working with you," the Russian said cordially.

"Hey, dude! Glad to be here!" Alfred said cheerfully.

"Hi," Matthew said. The dean clapped his hands to get everyone's attention, and the pilot that was supposed to take them to China in the small airplane, and everybody got on board except for Dean Gregory, who wished them luck on their journey. Once the airplane rode off into the air, Alfred looked around the small passenger cabin.

It was rather bland and smelled of old French fries, but that didn't prevent Alfred from being even more excited for the trip. The seats were worn and made of gray leather, and they were cold against his bottom. On his right were Matthew, who was drawing in his sketchpad, and Arthur, who was staring off into space as if he were bored. Eager to get to know someone new, Alfred decided to break the ice with the young Englishman.

"Um…you like video games?" he asked awkwardly. Arthur's green eyes looked over at the American, who had a content look on his face as he waited for him to answer.

"No, I don't waste my time with such things," he said.

"Hey, your accent's cool, Arthur," Alfred said kindly. The Englishman's face grew less tense—he was becoming more comfortable with this stranger.

"Why, thank you," Arthur answered in a brief mutter. "After all, I _am_ English. What part of America are you from?"

"I'm from Chicago. That's in Illinois, but I went to DC for college. I have a sister back at home, and her name is Amelia. My parents are George and Martha," Alfred said. Arthur nodded. _Why the bloody hell is he telling me his back story_, he asked himself as he stared strangely off into space again.

"I'd cross the Thames for a cup of tea right now," Arthur said. "Do you like tea?"

"Nah, I love soda," Alfred said. "Like burgers?"

"No," the Englishman said.

"Well, they are legit my life," Alfred said with enthusiasm. "I can eat seven double-pounders in one sitting. Just ask Matthew over here; he knows." The shy young man looked at Arthur and sighed. _Good_, he thought, _at least I'm being noticed for once_.

"He's obsessed with burgers, but even though I tell him how unhealthy they are, he never listens to me," he told him.

"Alfred? Is that your name?" Arthur asked, looking at the one next to him.

"Yeah, that's me. They also call me 'the hero,'" Alfred responded with excessive pride in his grin.

"Why?" Arthur asked. "Doesn't that get…utterly boring?"

"Nope! Never!" the American told him. "I _am_ a hero." Suddenly, Matthew cut into their conversation, thinking he was still playing an active talking role.

"He thinks he's a hero because he reads too many Spiderman, Superman, and Batman comic books, Arthur," he told him. The two other men looked at him, and then Arthur looked at Alfred.

"Is this true?" the Englishman asked, looking at the American strangely.

"Yeah!" he said, taking a comic book out of his backpack. "This is _The Adventures of Superman_, DC Comics, Volume 4, Issue 2! Cool, huh?!" Suddenyl, the Frenchman cut in rudely.

"Eh, you waste your time," he said coldly in his seductive accent. "Wouldn't you rather be out with beautiful ladies and buying them gifts? Taking them to dinner or having a glass of wine in the moonlight? Or…honhon….oh wait. Your girlfriend is your comic collection! Oui, I know that!"

"Oh, can it, wanker!" Arthur said sharply. "He likes comic books, let him read them!"

"Excuse moi, but did I say you could talk?" Francis questioned snobbily.

"Excuse me, Pepé Le Pew, but _you_ weren't in this conversation!" Arthur retorted, pointing his finger at him.

"I'll make you into escargot before we even get to China!" Francis threatened.

"I'll make a man out you, dandy!" the Englishman said, slashing him with his sharp-tongue as he rolled up his sleeves, wanting to fight the Frenchman at any given time.

"Stop, you two! I'm trying to enjoy my vodka!" Ivan demanded, taking a sip from his tall, glass Smirnoff bottle.

The eyes of Francis and Arthur met conspiratorially, eager to slash at the other when they landed at their destination. However, by noon, they were already passing over the HimalayanMountains. Francis and Matthew had cameras, and once they saw Mount Everest for the first time, they took photographs of the natural wonder. Alfred placed his hand on the window and smiled at the sight, but once he felt abnormal shaking, he knew something bad was going to happen.

"What's going on? What's wrong with the plane?" Arthur asked worriedly.

"I don't know!" Alfred said, feeling his distress worsen as moments passed. "What's going on!? Pilot!?"

The pilot walked out of the cockpit and into the passenger's cabin, where he removed his jacket and aviator goggles as he walked toward a compartment that was not noticeable before. He pulled out one parachute vest and strapped it on himself, causing the others to promptly jump out of their seats and question the pilot.

"What the hell are you doing with just one parachute?" Francis asked. "What about us?"

"What _about_ you, dandy?" the pilot laughed sinisterly. "You don't think I'm going to die, do you? NO!" Before he could open the side of the plane into the open, chilly air, Arthur stopped him, tugging on the parachute vest with the pilot to at least try and get it.

"You no-good wanker! You only have _one_ life parachute?!" he screamed angrily, trying to rip it out of the pilot's grimy hands.

"Give it up. It's futile," Ivan said calmly; he was ignored, and the pilot snatched it and jumped out, leaving the young men to worry.

"Oh no!" Matthew said, looking around nervously. "We're going to die, aren't we?"

"NO! We are _not_!" Alfred said, looking around for something to use—on the walls were a first aid kit, a life boat, and—_wait, a lifeboat_, he asked himself as he sprinted over and tore it off the wall. Arthur, Francis, and Matthew looked over and saw him take the unusual item off the wall.

"What are you doing?" Francis asked distressfully. Ivan, who had went to the cockpit to see what was wrong, saw that there was no gas left in the ignition.

"There is no gas! What are we going to do?!" Ivan cried, tugging his scarf roughly.

"We aren't sinking, you fool! We're about to become mincemeat! WE'RE CRASHING, YOU DIMWIT!" Arthur scolded.

"No, it will work!" Alfred said, talking loudly over the rapidly blowing open air. "I know it will! Just each of you grab on!"

Matthew was the first to grab hold of one of the handles, next Francis, then Ivan, and lastly Arthur, who was not so keen on the idea of going down a couple thousand feet to suspicious terrain in a flat lifeboat. Everybody sandwiched one another near the door, and as everyone yelled, they prepared to jump.

"I can't look!" Ivan shouted.

"My hair is being blown too much!" Francis squealed. "I'm getting uglier by the minute!"

"Oh my God!" Matthew grimaced.

"This isn't going to work!" Arthur said pessimistically. "If we die, my soul will haunt yours forever!"

"Ready! Set! JUMP!" Alfred ordered.

The five men fell from the wayward airplane, which burst into flames on impact into a mountain. The ride back onto the earth was long and treacherous, but nevertheless, they made sure they stuck together.


	4. Chapter 4

"AAAAAHHHHHH!"

Their fall to flat, solid terrain seemed like forever, but once they landed on a soft, snowy slope, the impact tossed everybody around. The force of the air inflated the small lifeboat, but it had just enough room to fit all of the young men on the journey to China. Alfred had some kind of false hope, but he had no idea what he was in for.

The slope was dangerously steep, but it was not craggily and rocky, allowing the yellow, inflatable lifeboat to slide smoothly, but rapidly down the slope. Each of the men were full of worry, especially Francis, but Arthur was apprehended by the abnormal speed of the lifeboat. There was no inertia, but tons of momentum as the five young men screamed and shouted at the thrill of the ride down the slope. They were all in fear of their fates as the lifeboat continued to slide down the treacherous mountain.

Tall evergreen trees smacked their faces and limbs as the force of the ride flailed them about the lifeboat, and the breeze was chilly. Once Alfred and Arthur caught sight of soil for the first time in hours, they were relieved, but then, the Englishman addressed his displeasure with him.

"You wanker!" he shouted. "We could have been killed!"

"Hey, we're alive _now_!" Alfred said. "That was actually kind of fun!"

The fun for Alfred ended when the lifeboat was forced off a straight cliff, making them all scream even louder and fearing more for their lives!

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" they all screamed in unison as the lifeboat fell slowly down in midair. Ivan looked down and he immediately grew even more scared—he couldn't swim!

"There's water below us," he said in his thick accent. "I cannot swim."

"You don't need to—"

Francis' sentence was cut off upon feeling himself, along with other men, crash down into the water, letting violently flowing rapids take them along the river.

"Oh! My hair is all wet! I hate being wet!" he squealed with distress.

"Oh, cut it out, dandy!" Arthur retorted. "Our lives are at stake here!"

"I'll show you!" Francis said, raising his fist and preparing to punch the Englishman. Arthur dodged his attack and grunted, but Alfred broke them up.

"Stop! Both of you!" he said, as the rapid grew calmer. "I don't even know if we're in China, but I we are, I am so going to be the one to get to the excavation site first!"

The ferocity of the rapids calmed within a few minutes, and everybody's nerves calmed along with it. There were no more large boulders in sight, but instead a clear, calm rush that led them along this mysterious river. Alfred looked back at Arthur, Matthew, Francis and Ivan with concern. Then he kneeled in the boat, raising his arms up to get everyone's attention.

"Is anybody hurt?" he asked. "Is everyone OK?"

"Yes, but I will never, _ever_ do that again," Arthur said, smoothing out his shirt that was now wet and filthy from being on the rapids.

"I'm alright," Matthew said nervously, rubbing the side of his arm.

"Ugh, my hair is ruined! And this shirt! I got it for 200 francs!" Francis exclaimed. "Do you realize how expensive that is in France?"

"No, and quite frankly, we are _real_ men who do not care about such things," Arthur sneered.

"Real men? No! _I_ am a real man!" the Frenchman retorted. "Beautiful women love me!" His snobby attitude aggravated the Englishman, who used his sharp tongue to lash at him.

"That doesn't mean anything, prissy-boy! You're all action and no talk!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Is that so?" Francis asked.

"Yes, dandy!" Arthur responded.

"I will make escargot out of you!" he said meanly. Alfred rolled his eyes as he raised his hand to get everyone's attention once more.

"Stop it! Don't you realize that we are in the middle of nowhere?" he asked.

"How will we find food? Or reach civilization?" Ivan wondered calmly. Matthew grew nervous, the pugnacious Englishman next to him on the boat.

"Oh, boy," he whimpered anxiously. "Looks like we're not going to like this, are we?"

The five young men were adrift on the lifeboat for the next forty-five minutes, and during that time, Alfred got further acquainted with Ivan and Arthur, but whenever he tried to make conversation with Arthur, Francis would always cut in with a rude, uncalled-for remark about the Englishman. However, they boat stopped moving, and they were all asleep by the time forty-five minutes turned into one full hour. A strange buzzing sound immediately woke up Francis, and he squealed in fright after seeing a few mosquitoes flying around him.

"Eh! These mosquitoes! Get away from me!" he shouted, waking up the other men. Arthur looked around, seeing Francis swat at the tiny, flying insects gingerly.

"Oh, hush up!" he said sharply. "It's only a bug!"

"Shut up!" Francis shouted. Alfred and Matthew looked at each other, and then back at the two fighting Europeans. Why was there so much tension between Francis and Arthur when they barely knew each other for more than a few hours? Alfred felt a mosquito buzz near his ear, but he swatted it away quietly. _Eh, the French always make such a big fuss about everything_, he thought.

The sound of distant voices, probably of women and children, was picked up by Arthur and Francis, who had stopped their arguing upon first hearing the sound. They seemed to have spoken a different language once the sound came clearer, but once they drew closer, they could be seen.

"Do you hear that?" Arthur asked.

"Do you _see_ that?" Alfred added, pointing at the people. "They are _not_ Chinese at all!"

The sight before them in the distance came clearer as they saw three small boys, a little girl, and five women with buckets approaching the river; they all had dark skin, but the women dressed very differently from the ones in the countries of the young men. They didn't wear designer clothing straight from the Parisian runway, or dark-colored headscarves on their heads, or even pleated skirts and blouses—they wore simplistic sashes over simple dresses tied at the waist as they carried empty buckets to collect water. The men stared at them strangely—they were _not_ in China.

The children ran toward the riverbank, curious about the yellow thing in the water. They spoke the strange language, and it put the young men under the impression that they were on tribal territory. But where were they if not in China like they should have been? The women and children seemed impoverished, but they also looked like something Alfred would have seen in a high school world history book.

"Look! Down by the river!" a little boy said in his mother tongue. The women looked, and as they came closer, Alfred immediately noticed the red dots in the middle of their brown foreheads. They had their black hair in buns, and one even picked up the little girl who was with them, walking over to see that there were young white men in the boat.

"There are men!" the woman with the little girl in her arms exclaimed in the same language. Arthur waved his hand at them, trying to be friendly.

"Please help us!" the Englishman begged. The children, frightened by the strange man, ran back to the women.

"Mommy, they are white! Like the _rajkumari_!" the little girl said in the strange tongue.

Arthur shook his head, getting out of the boat. The women and children winced in fear, but didn't run away—they were so curious; where had they come from? Were they heaven-sent to the village for some good reason? The women and children watched as the Englishman helped his group members get out of the boat—first came Alfred, then Ivan, Francis, and Matthew. Arthur walked forward slowly, looking at the curious faces on the strangers.

"Hello! Um, good day!" he said politely. "Where is your village?" The foreigners looked at him, and began muttering in their native language again.

"I said," Arthur repeated. "Where is your village?" Even though he said it slower with corresponding gestures, the women looked at him curiously as the children held their skirts.

"Are you heaven-sent from Shiva? Who are you?" one of the little boys asked in his language, pointing up at the men.

"I am Arthur," the Englishman said, introducing himself slowly as he pointed to himself. The little boys let go of the ladies' skirts and walked toward him, looking at his wet clothes and his feet, which were covered with shoes. The women and the children were barefooted, and stared up at him with their almond-shaped black eyes.

"Dude, they don't understand you," Alfred said, tapping his shoulder. One of the women took their bucket and walked away, making the men wonder—was she getting some type of authority figure to meet them? Were they getting arrested? The group stayed quiet until a tall, dark man with a turban, bushy mustache, and kilt made of simple white cloth that was somewhat grimy.

"Bandhu!" the woman said in her native tongue, looking up at the man with the turban. "We found these men here in a yellow boat!"

The man looked at the young men skeptically, walking toward them to get a better view of them—their fair hair, light eyes, and striking features made them stick out like sore thumbs among the native people to the area. What shocked Alfred and Arthur was the fact that he could speak English, even though it was broken and incomprehensible.

"Where did you come from?" Bandhu asked. Arthur smiled at him.

"Allow us to ask one simple question," the Englishman said, raising a finger to him. "Where are we? Is this China?" Bandhu laughed heartily at his question, looking at him with his skeptical black eyes.

"No," he said in his deep voice. "This is India."


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred, upon hearing this, felt his jaw drop in both dismay and shock. Of course, he knew Indian women wore bindis on their foreheads and saris over their gowns, but it didn't occur to him until Bandhu told the group. Everyone gasped in shock, but Alfred was even more shocked than his group—they were supposed to be at an excavation site in China, not a destitute village in India.

"Wait a minute!" the American said. "We are supposed to be in China! How will we get there now?"

"China? Why?" Bandhu asked curiously.

"Alright, dude, get ready for an earful of words! So, I am from America and—"

"America?" the tall, dark man wondered, smiling to show the few teeth he had. "You are all from America?"

"No, I am from England," Arthur said primly.

"I am from America, too," Matthew added.

"I'm from France, monsieur," Francis told him.

"I'm from Russia," Ivan said finally.

"Why are you all different?" Bandhu questioned, looking at the men curiously. "Have you come to…cause harm to our…village?"

"No, no, no! Sir! We are actually supposed to be in China," Alfred said excitedly with a friendly smile. "We are all part of an international archaeology program for colleges and universities around the world, and we were all chosen to go to China in order to study artifacts excavated near the Yangtze River!"

"College? Oh my," the tall, dark man said, face-palming himself gently with subtle humiliation—he knew that higher education was something the people in his village could not afford. "You must be all very rich. Perhaps the palace at Delhi would satisfy you much better than here?"

"No, I…well…oh wait! A palace! Sweet!" Alfred exclaimed. "Is there a king here in India?"

"Yes, His Royal Highness Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj," Bandhu said with a smile. "We all love him. He is a good man."

"What kind of good has he done for your people?" Arthur questioned politely, realizing that their village may have been composed of dilapidated houses and starving individuals. Bandhu walked away and gestured the men to come back to his village with him.

"Come to my village. I welcome you," he said cordially with a smile. "I will answer to you in a moment."

Past the trees blocking their view and the bugs that flew by them, Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan and Matthew followed the path of the man who was the supposed leader of the village. Once they reached a certain point, they could see small houses with thatched straw roofs and walls made of small stones mixed with mud that was left to dry and harden. Everybody who was out of their homes looked at the strange, white men who had fallen from a wayward airplane to safety, and in a lifeboat travelled down a snowy slope, a straight cliff in midair, raging rapids, and a peaceful river before being discovered by a few women and children collecting water. Bandhu led them into his house, where he bade them to sit down. The villagers outside gathered around the home of the village leader, peering to take a look at the fair-haired men.

"The Maharaja cannot do anything for our status because we are put here by karma, but he has done a lot of good things for our country," Bandhu said with broken English.

"Karma?" Alfred said. "What goes around comes around." The young man laughed, and Bandhu sat there staring at him with his great black eyes.

"Karma is whatever you do in a lifetime, boy," he said, using his hands to make gestures in case they couldn't understand him. "We live any lives until we reach spiritual purity, and if we do badly in a life, we go to something lower."

"If a rich man is greedy in his life, then he becomes poor in the next," Arthur said. "I know exactly what you mean. We studied Hinduism at King's College in London."

"London?"

"Yes, it is in England. I am English," Arthur said.

"Hey, sir?" Alfred finally said. "Do you have…planes here, so we can go to China?"

"Planes?" Bandhu asked. "You will have to see someone like the Prime Minister in order to get one. They are a lot of money."

"I know that," Alfred replied.

Then, a woman came in, and she looked about as old as Bandhu, and she wore a beige sari wrapped over her head and a simple, dark green dress. She had great black eyes like Bandhu, and with her came a young boy no older than ten who resembled the village leader. He was very skinny, and he wore a similar kilt-like wrap to his grandfather's. He had short black hair cut close to his head and his darting black eyes scanned the men with the same kind of skeptical curiosity as his grandfather had.

"Hello," Arthur said. The woman looked at him, putting her hands together as if in prayer and bowing her head.

"This is my wife, Lochana, and our grandson Oorjit," he said.

"Hello," Arthur said, smiling at the woman and boy in a friendly manner.

"Maybe you will stay the night?" Bandhu offered. "You all look very wet and tired."

"Thank you," Alfred said with a smile.

"Ah! We are staying _here_? But it is so—"

"Francis! Shut up!" Arthur snapped at the Frenchman. "Don't you _dare_ say anything about these people! Can't you see they are not as advantaged as _we_ are?"

Francis rolled his eyes while Arthur and the rest accepted his hospitable offer. Bandhu opened his home to the strangers, and there they slept for the entire evening. Once the sun rose, the villager leader woke up to see them lying there, sleeping like babies on the hard, soil floor of his small dried-mud house. Ivan was the first to wake up, and once he did, he was startled upon seeing Bandhu sit there with his mushy food on a leaf, eating slowly as he kept his eyes on him perceptively. Ivan smiled and waved to him.

"Good morning," he said in his thick Russian accent. "I bet it is a beautiful day."

"The sun is up," Bandhu said. "It is morning now. Will you eat breakfast?"

Recalling what Lochana had served him and his group the night before, he knew he had to reconsider the thought of eating the same thing for breakfast. They had eaten a kind of mushy meal made of dark grain that was served on nothing but large leaves plucked from trees. Ivan smiled, but declined his offer politely.

"No, thank you," he said politely. "I'm still full from last night."

"Oh," the man said, looking down at his food to take another handful of it to put in his mouth. "Won't you be hungry on your trip to Delhi?"

"Trip?" Alfred said, waking up to this word as he jerked up from him slumber. "Delhi? Where is that?"

"It is a small journey from here, my friend," Bandhu said cordially.

"We need a guide! We can't go alone! We'll be lost!" Alfred exclaimed with worry.

"Do not fear. I will send you with my grandson Oorjit and my younger brother, Kumar; they have been to Delhi at least once," Bandhu told him, trying to reassure him and calm him down.

"Oh, alright. It shouldn't be so bad, then," Alfred said. "When are we going to go?"

"Whenever you are ready," Bandhu replied.

It took about an hour for the rest of the men to wake up, and once they did, they were offered the same grain mush for breakfast, but everybody, especially Francis, declined their offer simply because the look of it repulsed them. _Eh, this disgusting Indian food_, the Frenchman thought, _I don't know how they live like this_. Then, it took about a half hour for them to get elephants to bring the group, Oorjit, and Kumar to the city. Alfred smiled at the sight of seven elephants coming for them, and laughed when they made sounds, raising their trunks in the air.

"HAHA! Look! They're so cute! And big, too!" Matthew said as the group walked toward them. He rubbed the leathery, dark grey skin of the elephant he was riding, and suddenly, Oorjit came toward him and gestured toward the elephant, placing a wooden bucket faced down in front of him.

"Do you need help?" he asked in broken English. Matthew nodded and smiled at the young, dark-skinned boy.

"Yes, thank you," he said, taking the young boy's hand as he stepped on the inverted, sturdy bucket as he climbed onto the elephant's back. The animal smelled as thought it had dirty water dried to its skin, but the men, once they got on their elephants, sucked it up as the elephants began taking Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan and Matthew to Delhi. Bandhu and his wife Lochana wished them luck on their journey, as did several other villagers. The trip seemed like forever, but once they reached Delhi, Oorjit and Kumar wished them luck, taking the bunch of elephants with them back to their village.

Alfred looked around the city streets, seeing women in colorful saris with painted or jeweled bindis on their foreheads, children running around and playing games, and men dressed in loose-fitting clothes. Vendors sold food and other goods at stands, and stores were open and thriving. _This place isn't so bad after all_, the young man thought as he marveled at the sights, sounds and smells of Delhi. It was like a place from his dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wow! Check it out!" Alfred exclaimed as he walked in front of his closely-knit group. Arthur, Francis, Ivan, and Matthew also admired the exotic scenery of Delhi. "Do you think there's a burger place around here?"

"I doubt it," Matthew said. "Looks like they're selling fritters over in that vendor. It smells good."

"Too spicy," Arthur said, throwing his hand in the air in disapproval. "I prefer tea. I bet there is a lot of tea here in India."

"I just remembered I lost my vodka when we fell from the plane," Ivan said, totally out of context.

"Eh, who needs it?" Alfred disagreed nonchalantly. "Hopefully there is a soda joint around here if there isn't a burger place! I'm starving!"

Meanwhile, the people in the streets looked at the strange, white men as they walked down the street. Arthur looked around rapidly until a well-dress man in a white suit caught his eye. The man was staring at Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, and Matthew with the same kind of awe as everyone else did. The man wore glasses that framed his black eyes, his hair was raven black, and skin was a warm, dark tan. His face was rather chiseled, and he had a bushy mustache to complete his old-fashioned look. Arthur was the first to notice the man approach him, and he was just another Indian who could speak English—unlike Bandhu's speech, his was clear and audible, and he spoke with an Indian accent with an English twang.

"Hello, strangers," he said, approaching the Englishman in particular. His lively green eyes stared at the well-dressed man indefinitely.

"Hello, fine sir," he replied as the man in white extended his hand cordially. Arthur shook it, hearing him introduce himself.

"I am Sadar Chowdry, Prime Minister and Advisor to His Royal Highness the Maharaja," he said in a friendly manner. "You seem lost, and it caught my attention just moments ago."

"Oh, I am Arthur Kirkland, college student from King's College in London," he replied. "We…_were_ lost. We arrived here yesterday."

"London?" Sadar questioned, raising an eyebrow curiously. "I studied at Oxford. Are…your friends here from England as well?"

"No, in fact we were supposed to go to China to study the artifacts recently unearthed near the Yangtze River by Walter Meyer," Arthur said. "Instead, our plane ran out of gas and we crash-landed here. We escaped a plane on a lifeboat, and we were adrift on it with the rapids carrying us to a village."

"Really?" Sadar asked, his voice and facial expression full of concern. "My, that must explain why your clothes are so dirty. No offense."

"None taken," Alfred said, stepping forward to introduce himself. "I'm Alfred Jones. Great to meet you. I'm from GeorgeWashingtonUniversity in Washington, DC. That's in America, of course." He pulled Matthew by the collar and brought him forward, placing an arm around his shoulder. "This is my friend Matthew Williams, and he's from the same college as me."

"It's nice to meet all of you. Who are the other two?" Sadar questioned with a smile. Unlike Bandhu, Sadar had white, perfectly aligned teeth that shone whenever he bore a grin. Francis pushed through everybody and looked at Sadar, flaunting himself in an effeminate manner.

"I am Francis Bonnefoy, and I am from the University of Paris, monsieur," the Frenchman said, fluffing his shoulder-length blond hair and looking at him with an odd sense of seduction in his blue eyes.

"I am Ivan from St. PetersburgUniversity," the Russian said, walking behind Francis to introduce himself to the stranger. Sandar smiled at all of them and began walking in front of Alfred as if he were to lead them.

"Walk with me. I'll show you around Delhi," he offered. "Maybe later, you will dine in style with the Maharaja himself!"

They began their stroll, but nevertheless, people continued to stare at the group of men with the Prime Minister as they walked through the streets. Alfred, famished and deprived from his usual burger-fries-soda meal, needed to know where to get a fix.

"Hey, Prime Minister," he said, catching Sandar's attention. "Where can I get a burger or soda around here?" The man shook his head.

"No, not in this part of India," Sandar replied. "We are all Hindu here."

"What does that have to with enjoying a nice burger?" Alfred asked, confused by his statement.

"We do not eat meat here," the man said with a sigh.

"How come? Is it against your religion?" the American asked.

"Yes, it is," the Prime Minister replied as a few people with pushcarts dragged their good along. "In fact, the Maharaja banned meat from his palace here in Delhi."

"Really?" Arthur wondered, cutting in and walking beside him. "What particular belief prohibits the consumption of meat?"

"Reincarnation," Sadar said as they continued walking. "Souls can manifest in animals or people—it is very simple. A soul that has done bad in one lifetime will become an animal or insect in the next. However, if they do a lot of good, they will become something higher. A poor person who does good for his village will become a _raja_ in his next life. It all ends once spiritual purity is reached, and the soul lives with the gods forever."

"What an abstract theory," Arthur said, drawn further into the conversation. "Say, tell us more about the Maharaja."

"He is a good man," Sadar said with a proud smile. "He's always very hospitable, treating guests as if they were in his class. He has done a lot of good for India, and he is, after all, the king of this land."

"Does he have a wife?" Ivan asked, joining the discussion.

"He did, but she died once the little _rajkumari_ was born," Sadar said with a grave tone of voice.

"What is…that word you said?" Alfred asked, looking at him strangely as they approached the town center. Sadar sat down on a bench with the men standing around him. Arthur sat next to the prime minister, listening to him answer Alfred's question.

"Her Royal Highness Rajkumari Amisha Mani of Delhi," he said. "She is his daughter, the princess of India." Francis sighed in a romantic fashion and touched his forehead lightly.

"Ah. I bet she is _trés belle_!" the Frenchman said. Knowing exactly what he meant, Sadar smiled and leaned back on the bench, continuing to grin.

"You have no idea," he told the young men. "She is the apple of our eye. It's so hard to describe how…magnificent and regal she is."

"She _is_ a princess, Prime Minister," Francis said. "She _must_ be beautiful!"

"You will see her later," Sadar said, standing up from the bench to look at the men. "I invite you as guests to stay in the palace of Delhi, and to attend tonight's dinner party. The Maharaja will love to have unexpected guests. After all, he has over fifty servants in his palace."

"FIFTY?" Alfred exclaimed. "Really? How big is the palace? Is it huge?"

"Yes, it covers about an acre, but the Maharaja's property totals seven acres," Sadar said. "Will you all join us?"

"_Will_ we?" Alfred said with excitement, taking his hand and shaking it rapidly. "Yeah! Hell yeah!"

"Well, for the time being, I will continue to stroll around Delhi to show you the sights, and maybe get you some new clothes for tonight's party," Sadar said, his tone turning more calmer and somewhat degrading as he spoke of their soiled clothing. "Let's go!"


	7. Chapter 7

Upon arrival to the Maharaja's palace in Delhi, Alfred, Francis, Arthur, Ivan and Matthew all stared in awe of the beautiful stonework that made up the walls and floors, and when Sandar called down a few servant girls, ages between twelve and fifteen, he ordered them to show them their rooms and leave them alone to dress. Francis, being the romantic Frenchman he was, tried flirting with the servant girl who showed him to a beautifully decorated room furnished with silk upholstered sofas, pillows, and on the bed, the bedspread was also of fine, crimson silk. Gold statues were on the mantle of the fireplace, and once the girl , aged thirteen, bade Francis to settle and get washed up for the dinner party, he made his move by holding her hand delicately and kissing it. The servant girl was average looking, and had a wide forehead, round face, great dark eyes and long black hair covered with a simple yellow sari.

"Tu est belle, mon cherie! Veux-tu me rejoindre au diner?" Francis said, trying to charm the girl with his language of love. Her eyes widened, and she was clearly confused and didn't understand French.

"Eh?"

Francis leaned down and kissed her hand gently, causing the servant girl to gasp and blush from his romantic charm. He noticed her giggle and cover her mouth with her hand as she ran out of the room all giddy and happy. Meanwhile, the rest of the men bathed and got dressed, preparing themselves for a lavish dinner at sunset with the king of India and his daughter, the princess.

Sadar escorted the well-dressed men down to the grand dining hall, where people were socializing with each other—women were adorned with jewels and silk saris and gowns, men dressed in suits, or, if they had any royal status, they wore silk white, jewel-adorned turbans with elaborate outfits adorned with semi-precious, lackluster gemstones. Young children, perhaps nieces and nephews of the Maharaja, ran around playing, but some stood waiting for him to arrive. Some attendants watched the Prime Minister enter with the five strange men—most of the people in the great dining hall were dark-skinned, and to see these men, who were white as anything, made them curious.

"Prime Minister Chowdry," a man dressed in black finery with a white turban said in a booming deep voice with a prominent Indian intonation. "Who are these men? Are they of any importance to His Majesty?"

"No, in fact, I came across them while in the city today, _raja_." Sandar replied politely. "They are supposed to be in China for an archaeology study for their colleges, but their plane ran out of fuel and they crash-landed here in India. I decided to take them to the palace as guests for the Maharaja. You know how much he loves company." The regal-looking man stared at the suspiciously with evil, dark eyes, then back at Sandar.

"You cannot bring them here!" the prince told him. "They are not of high birth!"

"Please, _raja_," Sandar said. "They have nowhere to go, and I had no choice. The Maharaja would want you to be compassionate toward these men, am I correct?"

"Yes, I suppose," he answered reluctantly.

"Very well," Sandar said, turning to the five college students. "Gentlemen, I'd like for you to meet Raja Kumar Chatur of Calcutta, also known as the Prince of Calcutta."

Alfred studied the man's features, and the fact that he was the only man dressed in black finery made him somewhat nervous. He looked to be in his late thirties with a white, jeweled turban covering his short black hair, and in his dark eyes was a flaming glow that looked rather suspicious. His eyebrows were as bushy as his thick mustache and goatee, and he was tall with a rich tan in his skin. Trying to be friendly, the men introduced themselves as politely as they could.

"I'm Alfred Jones. American," he said casually, bowing his head rapidly.

"I am Arthur Kirkland," the Englishman said.

"I am Francis Bonnefoy. I am from Paris," the Frenchman said in his dandy-sounding voice.

"I am Ivan Braginsky, and I'm from Russia," the Russian added. Matthew cleared his throat and spoke.

"I am Matthew Williams, and I go to school in America, too," he finally said. "With Alfred." The prince looked at them all, and sighed at Sandar.

"I hope you don't get in trouble," he whispered harshly, walking away primly toward the table to await the presence of the king and princess of India. Sandar began to walk, gesturing the men to stand at the table in front of highly-adorned floor cushions on which they would seat through the meal. Many other guests stood at the long, seemingly never-ending table when the Prime Minister stood before the table to introduce and announce that the Maharaja and Rajkumari were coming into the room.

"Presenting His Supreme Majesty, Ruler of all India, the Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj and his daughter, Her Royal Highness Rajkumari Amisha Mani."

Moving aside, everyone looked in awe as the king and his daughter made their way slowly to the long table, backed by decorated guards. Though everyone paid reverence to the king, it was his daughter, the princess, who caught the attention of everyone, especially Alfred—_she is so beautiful_, he thought in his mind as he marveled at her extreme beauty.

Rajkumari Amisha Mani was of rare beauty, but it was mainly because she expressed physical traits never seen in India. Her skin was clear and soft, white as ivory, her hair blacker than ebony, and her eyes; so blue and alive, made every unmarried man in the dining hall look at her with lustrous awe. She wore the brightest blue ensemble consisting of a sheer sapphire sari wrapped over her head and trimmed with gold embroidery, large blue peridot earrings that dangled and were made of fine gold, and on the top of her forehead was a sparkling jeweled bindi that was just one portion of the jewels she always wore in her curling raven hair. In her nostril was a piece of gold body jewelry, and a necklace sat atop her chest and was fastened around her neck, set with sparkling sapphires and small diamonds within a gold framework. A bit of midriff showed in her midsection as her blue top, adorned with even more gold accents, matched her flowing azure skirt. Alfred couldn't keep his eyes off her, and as she sat down, he got a much better look at her, and his face turned to slowly and gradually flash a grin.

Alfred was not the only admirer of the exotic, splendorous princess—Francis looked at her, his blue eyes open wide, as well as Arthur, Matthew and Ivan. The Russian's face, however, was the calmest in his reaction to seeing Rajkumari Amisha Mani for the first time. He had a warm, closed smile on his face as his indigo eyes remained on her for another few seconds.

"Wow," Arthur muttered under his breath.

"She's…" Francis whispered, his sentence trailing off so that another could finish it.

"Beautiful," Alfred said, entranced by her magnificent exterior as the Prime Minister gestured everyone to take their seats on the firm, silk pillows and prepare themselves to dine on reputably-spicy Indian cuisine. Then, a beautiful, exotic melody came from a small band composed of a sitar player, a hand-drummer, and a flute which played a peculiar sound. A few well-dressed dancers danced perfectly in sync to the tune as the guests socialized with each other before being served their food.

"Ah, Princess Amisha," Raja Kumar Chatur said as if he were in a daze. He was sitting across from Alfred, whose sky blue eyes were fixed on her. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yeah," he sighed, not taking his eyes away from her as she sat at the head of the table with her father, silently as her hypnotizing, azure eyes looked around the capacious, yet densely crowded room.

"Her eyes are like sapphire, and they sparkle more than the diamonds fastened around her neck," the prince said, noticing Alfred continue to stare. "I can easily tell that you fancy her. You are admiring her beauty, aren't you?"

There was no answer—Rajkumari Amisha Mani had a divine aura shining about her, and Alfred could easily sense that she was perceptive and inquisitive of the guests and the things that went on through their heads at that moment. His heart raced even faster when their eyes met, and from a distance, Alfred could see she had a calm, reserved nature. As he continued admiring her in her luxurious physical splendor, he smiled until he smelled the familiar aroma of food.

"Aw cool! Food!" he exclaimed as his plate was set in front of him. The metal heat dome was lifted, revealing a variety of strange foods.

On his porcelain dish was hot puri, a strangely-shaped kind of bread; chana masala, which consisted of chickpeas drenched in a spicy sauce; kadhi, which was a soup-like dish with vegetables, and churma, a North Indian delicacy that looked high in fat and calories. The members in Alfred's group stared down at the dishes, surprised by the vegetarian meals, but though Arthur, Ivan, Francis, and Matthew enjoyed their food, Alfred was very disappointed. _I want a few burgers, some French fries, and a large soda_, he thought as he stared at the Englishman sitting next to him.

"This food is delicious," the Englishman said with approval.

"Um, where is my burger?" Alfred asked in an arrogant tone of voice. Raja Kumar Chatur, who was across from him, stared at the young man coldly with his fiery dark eyes, his bushy black eyebrows twitching at him with irritation.

"In case you haven't noticed," he began in his cruel tone of voice. "We are followers of the Hindu faith, and therefore, we consume no animal products. The Maharaja banned meat and other related foods from the palace here in Delhi."

"How could you _not_ enjoy a burger?" the young American asked with a look of disgust on his face. "What kind of life is led without eating a burger, soda and fries?"

"Ugh," the prince scoffed, rolling his eyes and pointing his dull knife at the young man. "If you do not stop with your complaints, I will tell the Maharaja that you are insulting our good faith. I suggest that you be quiet _immediately_."

Alfred raised his eyebrows and scratched his head, looking down at the food and taking the puri with his free hand. He took a bite of it, and his eyes widened as he moaned orgasmically at the savory taste of the strange bread. Upon hearing him, the prince, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, and Matthew stared at him strangely. The princess glanced over, hearing his strange sound, but ignored it as she continued eating her dinner—the place was noisy with talking and whispering, but not as noisy as the slurping from the soup-like dish they were all served.

"This…is…SO…GOOD!" he exclaimed, catching the attention of the ones sitting around him. Since the Maharaja and his daughter were so far down at the head of the table, they couldn't notice his strange behavior; however, Raja Kumar Chatur noticed and dropped his fork onto his dish, staring at the young man with hate in his eyes.

"Stop it this instant!" he whispered forcefully. Alfred looked at him, chewing with his mouth open rudely, but he didn't mean to do it—he always ate this way, and as far as eating in front of others went, he would not stop. However, in order to make a good impression on the beautiful princess and her father, he stopped for the sake of it. The prince got back to eating, but then Francis began talking.

"How old is that beautiful lady at the head of the table?" he asked the raja politely in his seductive French accent.

"She is eighteen, and unfortunately, she is unmarried," the raja said. "That Maharaja had best get his head out of the clouds."

"Eighteen?" Alfred asked, swallowing his food. "Unmarried?" _Cool, she's all mine_, he thought with high hopes until the raja shot his hopes down.

"You cannot have her. You are not of noble blood and you are not Indian," he said sharply, looking at the men hatefully—his glare was mostly aimed at Alfred, who responded so quickly to his answer.

"What? What do you mean? I…don't even…know the princess," Alfred said in a nervous stutter. "How could I…want someone I don't know?"

"You stared at her for longer than I did," Raja Kumar Chatur sneered coldly.

"She _is_ a beautiful princess, fine sir," Arthur said politely, taking a sip of his beverage. "I think it is best that you both drop the topic before it gets out of hand."

Raja Kumar Chatur looked at the Englishman hatefully, but he secretly admired his sense of control over where he fixed his eyes. The prince sighed and took a bite of his food, swallowing it before sighing a breath that smelled of hot spices. Alfred was immediately repulsed by the whiff. _Bad manners_, he thought, _how ironic_.

"Sultans, sheiks, and rajas have been fighting for the Rajkumari's hand since she was thirteen years old," the raja said finally, staring at the extreme royal beauty in her sapphire-toned finery.

"Dude, that's too young! How could you guys make a girl marry a guy at that age?" Alfred exclaimed questionably, nearly choking on his food.

"It may be that way in _your_ country, but here, royal life for an Indian princess is different. She is expected to marry who is chosen for her," the raja explained. "Though I deeply respect the Maharaja, I don't think he is doing his part in finding a suitable husband for the Rajkumari."

"What happened with the ones who tried marrying her? Were they not good enough?" Ivan questioned with a spoonful of the soup-like food in his hand.

"I cannot tell you. It is not a conversation for dinner," the raja said with a bit of suspicion in his booming, deep voice.

When dinner ended over two hours later, dessert was served—a choice of gulab jamun, a sugary type of morsel that was chewable in a single bite; kheer, a parfait served in the form of bisque that was made of milk and dried fruits, and singori, a coconut dessert that Alfred and Francis were both fond of in particular. The Frenchman really enjoyed dinner as much as he loved being inside such a grand setting with exotic furniture with silk upholstery.

"Oh, this is _trés magnifique_!" Francis said after a satisfied moan from his singori.

"I know, right, Francie?" Alfred said, sighing before looking at the rajkumari one more time.

She had just finished eating her dessert, and her beautiful eyes wandered the grand dining hall; the sapphires and diamonds in her elaborate necklace sparkled immensely, adding to the intensity of her orbs as they moved about, watching the guests enjoy their dessert. Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj looked over at his daughter, who was sitting next to him, and they began speaking their native tongue.

"बेटी," the great, large man in a bejeweled headdress said to his daughter. "Why don't you call your maids to help you prepare for bed?"

"No, father," she answered calmly. "I'd like to be with the guests a little longer."

"Ah, you want to meet the strangers Prime Minister Chowdry brought with him?" the Maharaja assumed.

"Strangers?" she wondered.

"Yes, he informed me about five men who were supposed to go further East but crash landed here in India," he told Amisha. "I would like to meet them myself."

Princess Amisha did not respond, but she remained sitting there until most of the guests got up from their seats and were led by maids to the rooms they were staying in for the evening. The palace at Delhi had over 60 bedrooms, and that wasn't including the bed chambers of the princess and her father, so it was very accomodating for all of the guests who had come from near and far. The Prime Minister approached the five men, who were still in the dining hall, and luckily, the Rajkumari and the Maharaja were still there, but they were standing near the back door of the room, chattering on about different subjects.

"Hello, sir," Arthur said, his attention caught by Sadar.

"I hope you enjoyed dinner," he answered, clasping his hands together and smiling.

"We sure did, monsieur," Francis said. "Thank you for letting us stay here."

"You are very welcome," Sadar told him with a chuckle. "I was wondering if you would all like to meet the Maharaja and his daughter?"

Alfred's heart raced, looking at Sadar in disbelief. _Is he serious_, he thought, _I am going to meet the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Up close and in person! I'm so excited! No, Alfred—be calm, be yourself. Don't say you are a prince because you are not. You are a hero_.

"Sure thing, mister," Ivan said with a friendly smile as they all stood up to approach the royals in a dignified manner. The Maharaja and his daughter looked over and stood primly before the blond strangers approached them with Sadar in front of them.

Up close, the Maharaja was a large, portly man dressed in a highly-jeweled ensemble consisting of a white uniform with a few strongs of jewels over his chest, a highly adorned white turban, and pointed shoes on his feet. He had a rich tan in his skin, a beard, and his eyes were dark and soulful. Next to him was his beautiful, ivory-skinned blue-eyed daughter, who stood with her head held up straight and prim, looking at the men with curious eyes.

"Your Majesty," Sadar said with reverence. "Allow me to introduce to you the five young men I found wandering in Delhi earlier today. They are all college students, and they crash-landed in India just recently after their trip to china went awry."

"Hmm," the Maharaja said as he stroked his raven-black beard. "I am aware of that." He stepped forward slowly. "What are your names?"

"I am Arthur Kirkland, Your Highness," he said, bowing as he made eye contact with the king and the princess.

"I am Francis Bonnefoy," he said, moving forward toward the princess, who stared at him to clearly see his intentions.

"Ah, tu est trés belle, mon cherie," he said, holding her hand gently as he leaned down to kiss it respectfully. "Je veux dire, Votre Altesse Royale." Princess Amisha looked down at him, but didn't say anything about him kissing her hand. She didn't know what he was saying, but she knew he was only trying to be respectful.

"A Frenchman, Prime Minister?" the Maharaja asked as he saw Francis kiss his daughter's hand.

"Yes, but he is only trying to be respectful, Your Majesty," Sadar assured him. "After all, the French are known far and wide for their...romanticism."

Francis walked back to the group of men, where they began introducing themselves again. This time, it was Matthew's turn.

"I am Matthew Williams, Your Leadership," he said politely, bowing slowly and reverently.

"I am Ivan Braginsky," the Russian said.

Then, it came time for Alfred to introduce himself, but the extreme beauty of Rajkumari Amisha Mani distracted him from doing so. She was even more beautiful up close, and it made his lip tremble with anxiety. What was he going to say? How could he make himself look like less of an idiot?

"I...I...I'm Alfred," he said nervously, staring at the princess. "Alfred Jones, Your Highness."

The Maharaja and Rajkumari looked at everybody, but the though the king smile,d the princess kept her straight face and reserved manner. Meanwhile, Alfred continued to stare at her with admiration toward her extreme magnificence and regal presence. He smiled, but even still, when their eyes met, she kept her neutral expression.

"It is wonderful to meet all of you," the Maharaja said cordially. "I enjoyed having you here at my palace, and if it is any help to you, please feel free to stay here for as long as you need to."

"Thank you very much, Your Majesty," Arthur said, bowing his head with gratitude.

Raja Kumar Chatur approached the Maharaja, who looked into his fiery, sinister black eyes as he tried to draw him away from the five blond commoners.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty, but I must speak with you urgently," the prince said, staring at the men with a hateful glare.

"Oh, yes, raja," the king said, looking back at the men soon after. "Our servants will bring you to your rooms and help you prepare for bed. Have a wonderful night."

As he walked off, Alfred watched as the Rajkumari turned her back on the men and followed her father, the guards opening the door to let her through. He thoguth deeply about the raja—he seemed so cruel. What did he want to talk to the Maharaja about? _Something is fishy about that man_, he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Princess Amisha Mani's jewels and ankle bells clicked and clacked against her shapely form as she followed her father and the Raja of Calcutta. She stayed behind, but she couldn't help that her intricate jewels made sounds as she walked. As she watched her father and the prince go into a room, she sprinted, trying her hardest to be light on her feet as she stood by the doorway, eavesdropping curiously on their conversation.

"Your Majesty, I have a proposal for you," the raja said in his normally mordant tone of voice. The princess listened quietly as they continued speaking to each other.

"Yes, Raja Kumar Chatur?" the Maharaja asked, wondering what the prince wanted to talk about.

"Well, I may have the solution to your problem," the raja said, speaking in riddles. The Maharaja stared at him with suspicion.

"_What_ problem?" he asked. "Is it one of which I am not aware?" The raja snickered, continuing his persuasive dialogue.

"I am pretty sure you are well aware of the situation, Your Majesty," Raja Kumar told him. "In fact, _everyone_ is aware of the situation."

"_Everyone_? What is the problem, Raja Kumar?" the Maharaja asked frantically with worry. The Raja stood in front of where the Maharaja was sitting, leaning forward and placing his large, dark hands on the arms of the chair.

"Your daughter, Your Majesty! The princess! Rajkumari Amisha Mani of Delhi!" he exclaimed emphatically. The princess, who had continued to listen to their conversation, grew nervous. _Not another suitor, I hope_, she thought in her head.

"Oh yes, Raja Kumar. What about her?" the Maharaja asked, standing up and pacing around the room as the raja continued speaking.

"She is unwed, and before long, no raja, sheik, nor sultan will want her as a wife," Raja Kumar said. "For her youth and beauty will fade like a flower that was once in bloom." Princess Amisha gasped quietly, hearing the raja say that about her. _How dare he_, she thought, _no one shall speak of me that way_.

"Youth? Beauty?" the Maharaja asked, confused about the point he was trying to make. "I don't understand, Raja Kumar. What are you trying to tell me?"

The suspense was killing Princess Amisha, as did the anticipation of his answer. She gulped without making a sound as she peered in, lifting the fallen blue, sheer sari off her face. Neither her father nor the raja noticed her, for they were too busy engaged in their conversation.

"I am willing to pay you a lot of times more than the Bhutanese sultan did three months ago," the raja offered, gesturing toward the king. "That was her last marriage proposal, am I correct?"

"Yes, but…" the Maharaja trailed off, thinking of something to say. "No! You can't put a price tag on my daughter!" The princess was in shock—Raja Kumar Chatur was no older than thirty-nine, and she was but eighteen. _I will not marry him_, she thought, _he is much too old for me_. However, she was happy about her father's initial response, but it faded once Raja Kumar told him additional details.

"Your Majesty, I'm afraid there _is_ a price for the dowry," the raja contradicted. "Therefore, there _is_ a price tag on your daughter. The Rajkumari's beauty is known far and wide. Rajkumari Amisha Mani is…special." The Maharaja stared at him as the princess remained outside the doorway, listening to what he had to offer her father for her hand.

"I will make the best compromise with you. Do you trust me, Your Majesty?" the raja continued.

"Why, yes, Raja Kumar. I have known you since you were a young man," the king replied, listening attentively to his offer.

"I am the Crown Prince of Calcutta, but with my marriage to your daughter, You Majesty, our kingdoms will be united. Think of it this way—I am getting older as days pass, and I need a wife—a _young _wife who will be good for me and who will bear me a son. He will also be _your_ heir, for I will inherit the throne of India when you pass," the raja said. The Maharaja seemed interested in his offer, and was eager to learn more.

"What will you offer me for my daughter's hand?" he asked calmly, looking at him with his soulful dark eyes. Princess Amisha grew nervous—she hated the idea of being spoken of an indispensible, prized object. Her lips trembled, tears filling her blue eyes as he spoke.

"Your Majesty, I am willing to pay you 600 million rupees, and with that is the 400 acres I own back in Calcutta. The Bhutanese sultan only offered you 50 million for the Rajkumari, but my offer is much more profound and numerous. Of course, when she and I are married, we could rule India together as the new Maharaja and Maharani."

"That will be upon my death Raja Kumar," the Maharaja said. "Well, it is a hard choice, but I must let my daughter know."

"I'll send for her maids to get her," he said, making his way near the doorway. The princess heard his footsteps, but remained quiet and stationary as tears fell down her face.

"No, raja," the king ordered, prompting him to stop at the doorway's threshold. "We will wait until we next see her."

The princess was sobbing inside. She had known the Raja Kumar Chatur since he was a teenager. She was just a small child, and the idea of marrying a much older man whom she didn't love broke her heart. _Why must commoners have the luxury of marrying for love_, she asked herself as she wiped her eyes, _why is there not a prince in India who is my age and will love me like a woman rather than his queen_.

Once her tears were dried off from her ivory-white face, she walked past the doorway, but once the raja and her father caught sight of her, they both snapped their fingers once to get her attention. With the urge to ignore them both, Princess Amisha was obedient and stood in the doorway, looking at them both with inquisitive blue eyes.

"Ah, Your Highness!" Raja Kumar said, approaching the princess in a friendly manner. "We were just talking about you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, uh," the raja began, turning to the Maharaja nervously. "You can tell her the news."

"What news?" she questioned in her soft-spoken tone. The Maharaja came forward and looked at his daughter, admiring her beauty with pride.

"I have made a decision," he sighed, the princess looking at him attentively. "Your future has been decided, daughter."

"My future?" she asked as she put on a charade of oblivion.

"Yes, my dear," the Maharaja said. "You will be marrying Raja Kumar Chatur in the coming months."

Princess Amisha looked at the raja with contempt in her intense blue orbs, studying his features carefully. He always wore black with a coordinating turban, had a mustache, a deep tan, and sinister black eyes. He was not very attractive, and he was much older than the princess herself. Most importantly, she did not love him at all and knew for a fact that she would rather be stripped of her title than to marry him. She didn't hesitate to shake her head at his news.

"No," the princess said. "I will not."

"I am so sorry this news is so unexpected, but the raja is getting older and he needs a wife to bear him a son," the Maharaja said. "With your marriage to him, you will become the Maharani of India one day."

"Maharani? Have you gone mad, father?" she questioned. The raja butt into their small talk, and raised his large, dark hand to cease her defiant reaction.

"Please, Your Highness," he said, speaking to the princess. "I have never taken a wife, and because you are an unwed woman, I have decided to put an end to the problem with the suitors you have had."

"Raja Kumar, I'm flattered by your offer, but I do not love you," the princess said firmly.

"It isn't about love, Your Highness," the raja said, taking her delicate, white face into his hands and lifting it up so their eyes could meet. "I am Calcutta's Crown Prince, and it would only make sense for us to marry and become the King and Queen of all India."

Princess Amisha's eyes filled with tears as his fiery black eyes stared into her blue ones, and her lip trembled with fright. She wasn't really afraid of the raja, but his presence was intimidating and made her uncomfortable on so many levels. Once he let go of her, her voice began to crack as the warm, wet tears rolled down her cheeks.

"It is not fair," she cried. "How could you?"

With that, she ran from the room with her small, fine hands covering her sad face. Though several of her personal maids tried to stop her and ask what was wrong, she ignored them and ran up the stairs, sobbing and weeping until she entered the guest corridor, where she crashed her back against the stone wall and slid down until she sat on the floor with her knees to her chest. She buried her face in her silken skirt and cried as hard as her heart would let her.

Meanwhile, Alfred was in his designated room when he heard the faint banging sound against the wall. Curious, he opened the door and peeked out. Then, he heard crying and followed the sound only to see the princess sobbing uncontrollably. He walked slowly, his bare feet against the cool, stone floor and he knelt in front of the woman who had put him in a trance of admiration at the dinner party.

"Are…you OK?" he asked with deep concern, gently placing his hand on her smooth white arm.

"Who is there?" she asked in her language.

Their eyes met, and at once, Princess Amisha felt strangely at ease. He had been one of the strangers that Sadar had introduced to her and her father, but though she was more relaxed, tears still fell from her clear blue eyes and she closed them to release her grief and strong disapproval of her father's decision to marry her off.

"Who are you?" she asked in Hindi, looking away from Alfred's sky blue eyes. He looked at her with confusion.

"I…I can't understand you. Do you speak English, Your Highness?" he asked, looking at her as his concern grew deeper. She opened her eyes and sighed, looking at her bare feet adorned with gold ankle bells.

"Yes," she answered. "I am sorry I spoke Hindi to you."

"No worries, Your Highness," he said genuinely. "Why…are you crying? Is something wrong?"

"I am alright. There is nothing I can do about the source of my sadness," she said in a soft, feminine monotone laced with her Indian intonation.

Alfred loved the way she spoke—it was very fitting for the daughter of a king, and it perfectly coordinated with her magnificent beauty. Even when sad, the sound of her voice appealed to Alfred as much as her physical splendor did, and this was the first time he was close enough to admire every detail of her beautiful visage. Her eyes were the brightest blue shade he had ever seen, and it looked as though the ocean were in them. Her face was finely chiseled—high cheekbones, a fine jawline, and beautiful skin that was white as ivory. The sheer blue sari that covered her head had slipped off when her back slid down the wall, revealing her long, curling black hair as the sheer fabric rested on her shoulders. The crown of her head was adorned with strings of jewels that all met at the bindi hanging on the top of her forehead, which was gold with diamonds and small sapphire stones set into it. He smiled sadly at her as she studied his features.

He was nothing like any man she had seen before in her life. Being in India her whole life, she had been surrounded by men of dark hair and complexions, but Alfred was different—the American had sandy blond hair that framed his handsome, youthful face. He also had blue eyes, but his were the same shade as a clear daytime sky. She had seen only few blond-haired people in her lifetime, but they were only visitors and guests at the palace. He wore glasses on a regular basis, but right now, he wasn't because it was nighttime and he was ready to go to bed. She still had the sad expression as she began to cry again.

"Aw, don't cry, Your Highness," Alfred said, looking at her. "What is bothering you? Please tell me." She sighed and looked at him, wiping her eyes gently.

"I am being married off," she told him. "I would never marry the Raja of Calcutta by my own free will." Alfred looked at her curiously, recalling about how the same raja she was set to marry told her about marriage customs in the Indian royal family.

"Raja? Which one?" he asked.

"Raja Kumar Chatur of Calcutta," Princess Amisha told him.

"Was that the guy dressed in black and looks evil?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood with his nonchalant attitude.

"Yes, but I would not consider him to be evil. He is just…intimidating," the princess answered. "I overheard my father, the Maharaja, and him talking about what Raja Kumar would give my father in exchange for me."

"In exchange?" he asked, baffled by the idea. "You are a human being! Not an object, Your Highness! He should allow you to—"

"Kind sir," she interjected, staring up into his sky blue eyes before sighing. "I always wanted to marry for love, but being a princess, I am expected to fulfill a specific duty. The Raja of Calcutta, if I marry him, he will become the new Maharaja upon my father's death, and that will make me the Maharani."

"What?" Alfred asked.

"I'll be queen of India," she repeated.

"Then, it shouldn't be _that_ bad, right?" he asked, waiting for assurance.

"I do not think you understand, kind sir," Princess Amisha told him. "I am being married off against my will to man much older than me. Raja Kumar Chatur has never taken a wife, and because he is a crown prince, he will inherit a prominent title one day."

"Oh," he said. "I understand, then."

"My father has been trying to marry me off since I was thirteen, but the suitors that come to India to meet me have not measured up to our standards," she said.

"Why do you have to be bought like some object, Your Highness?" Alfred asked. "That's just cruel."

"It is a custom," Princess Amisha answered with a sad, morose sigh. "He said he will pay my father 600 million rupees and include his 400 acres of land in Calcutta into the dowry."

"Dowry?" he asked. "And what he hell is with all the land? He must be rich."

"Yes, his family is very wealthy," the princess told the young man. "His family swims in miles of gold coins and dines off plates of pure gold."

"You swim in diamonds," Alfred remarked in a jocular manner.

"Excuse me, sir?" Princess Amisha asked defensively. "Was that an arrogant remark?"

"No, not at all, Your Highness," he said, shaking his head rapidly with anxiety. "It's just that…you know…you dress so well."

"I will take that as a compliment, kind sir," the princess said, sighing to calm herself. Their eyes met again, and Alfred felt a strange feeling inside as their gazes grew more intense and deep.

"I have never seen a blue-eyed Indian before," he said with a chuckle.

"Neither have I," the princess said.

"And your skin is, like, so white, too!" he exclaimed playfully. "You are the first white person I've seen since crash-landing here. Dude, everybody's close to being black."

"Yes, I guess I was cursed with the genes," the princess replied shyly, somewhat uncomfortable with his playful demeanor.

"Nah, you're not cursed. You're blessed," he said with a smile. "My name is Alfred, by the way."

"Oh," she said. "Alfred."

"And, I'm sorry. I forget _your _name, Your Highness," he said. Looking at him with brighter eyes, she inhaled deeply and looked at the blond American man.

"Rajkumari Amisha Mani," she said. "You may call me Your Highness, or if you really are compelled, Princess Amisha."

"I like the second name better," Alfred said, standing up and looking down at the exotic beauty as she placed the sari back over her head.

"I just realized that my sari was off my head," she said with a slight bit of shame in her voice.

"You don't have to hide your hair in front of me, if that's what you guys do here," Alfred told her, continuing to admire how beautiful she looked in her blue and gold finery. "Where I come from, women showing their hair isn't a big deal."

"It is not so for us, either," Princess Amisha said, letting the sheer blue fabric go. "I am not a Muslim, but a Hindu. A woman can wear her sari in anyway she desires."

"So, you guys don't have to cover your hair?" Alfred asked. "Sweet. Your hair is the blackest I have ever seen in my entire life."

"Every Indian I have ever met has black hair like this," the princess said, looking up at him strangely.

"I've never seen such beautiful black hair in all my life," he said, admiring the strings of sparkling jewels woven into her curling hair. She looked up at him with sincere gratitude; she had been known for her beauty, but she was never complimented as sincerely as Alfred had done just seconds before. Her frown turned to a closed smile.

"Thank you," she said. Alfred then extended his hand to her, and she looked up at him, wondering what he had meant.

"Need help standing up?" he offered.

Princess Amisha extended her hand up to let Alfred hold it and pull her up, and once she got to her feet, their eyes met again; this time, the princess' deep gaze allowed her to assess the young American as a person. Judging by how he spoke to her, he was a light-hearted soul who loved amusements and jokes, and even though the princess wasn't used to such behavior being portrayed around her, she admired that he tried to cheer her up. Placing her hands together as if in prayer, she bowed her head slowly.

"You are a good soul," she said with a spiritual tone of voice. Alfred's memory sparked thoughts in his head of the nuns at his Catholic school back home doing the same thing as the princess.

"Well, thanks, princess," he said.

Suddenly, the chatter of approaching women interrupted their moment together. Seeing it was her maids, Princess Amisha let them come to she and Alfred, and then at that moment, the princess began speaking in her mother tongue again.

"You must be going to bed now, Your Highness," a maid dressed in green and yellow said, holding the white, smooth hand of the princess gently.

"Yes, of course," she answered, looking back at Alfred. "Good night, kind sir."

"Good night, Princess Amisha!" he said cheerfully as the princess was taken off, leaving a trail of the scent of jasmine and lavender.


	9. Chapter 9

The following morning, Alfred awoke from the guest bed in his room, stretching and yawning. As usual, he didn't dream, but he was so excited to see Princess Amisha again. _God, she's so beautiful_, he thought, _I hope I see her today. Man, I hope she's not too busy. I'll go out of my mind_.

Rushing out of the bed, he threw the silk bedspread off of his body and started to strip himself of his pajamas, putting on a simple blue dress shirt with a blue tie and a pair of dark blue slacks from the piled of folded clothes sent for him, courtesy of the Prime Minister. He had done the same for Ivan, Francis, Arthur and Matthew because they did not have extra clothes with them. Once he was dressed, a maid opened the door slowly and came into the room, walking toward the bed in order to make it.

"You guys come promptly to make my bed, huh?" he asked. "Thanks!" The maid looked at him strangely, picking up his pajamas and folding them neatly, placing them on the pile.

"Do you speak English?" Alfred asked. The maid stood there and looked at him.

"मैं आपको समझ में नहीं आता," she said in her language.

"I don't know what you are saying," Alfred said, wiping the lenses on his glasses before putting them on.

The maid left the room with Alfred following soon after. Once he was in the hallway, he saw Francis standing there with a navy blue suit jacket over a light blue dress shirt. The Frenchman smiled at him and waved.

"Bonjour!" he said cordially.

"Hi, Francis," Alfred said, approaching him. "Do you konw where we are supposed to go?"

"I'm not sure, but I hope it is the dining hall. I need nourishment," the Frenchman said. "I saw you with the princess last night." Alfred looked at him strangely.

"Oh?" The Frenchman approached him in a casual manner, but the American decided to listen to what he was going to say.

"If you ever need...love advice, please consult me," Francis suggested. "I have had my share of ladies and I'd be happy to—"

"Stop right there, Frenchman," Alfred said, placing his hands in front of him. "Before you go any further, please watch what you say because I could be accused of being in love with a betrothed princess."

"Betrothed? To who?" Francis questioned.

"That...prince in black we saw last night, "Alfred answered.

"That ugly one with the mustache?" the Frenchman questioned with fear in his voice. "I feel so bad for her. If I were a pirate, I'd steal her heart in an instant!"

"Don't tell that to the Maharaja," the American said with a laugh.

Later that morning, all of the guests met in the grand dining hall for breakfast, and as everyone awaited the arrival of the Maharaja and his daughter, Alfred, Ivan, Francis, Arthur, and Matthew were introduced to two older gentlemen by Sadar who were archaeologists who had come to India in search of a rare jewel sacred to a secret underground cult. They were both Englishmen named Roger Smith and Lewbert Winston.

Roger and Lewbert both had grey hair and matching mustaches, but Roger had deep brown eyes and Lewbert had eyes as green as Arthur's. The two were both thrilled to know that there was a young Englishman to socialize with, and as they spoke, the two older gentlemen brought up the topic of what they were set to find.

"Since you five young men are apprentice archaeologists, are you familair with _Dillī kā gahanā_?" Roger asked, looking at Arthur in specific.

"No, what is it, sir?" the young Englishman asked.

"It is Hindi for the 'jewel of Delhi'. That is its literal translation," Roger said, looking at him blankly.

"A jewel?" Alfred asked. "We gotta go find it right now!"

"No, Mr. Jones," Lewbert said, placing his arm around his shoulder. "In fact, it is said to be a sacred stone bearing the essence of Black Tara."

"Black Tara? That doesn't sound good," Alfred snorted.

"Black Tara is actually an aspect of the Hindu goddess Tara. She is often depicted with blue or white skin, and she has light-colored eyes. Black Tara is a very powerful supreme being in Hindu beliefs," Lewbert explained slowly as if he were mentally challenged. Alfred nodded, deep with understanding of his speech.

"Interesting. Very interesting," he said as he walked to the table along with his group members to await the presence of the Maharaja and Rajkumari Amisha Mani. He stood in front of the same silk, firmly-stuffed floor cushion as the Prime Minister announced their arrival down to the dining hall.

"Presenting His Supreme Majesty, Ruler of all India, the Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj and his daughter, Her Royal Highness Rajkumari Amisha Mani," he announced, moving aside as the doors opened to the Maharaja and his daughter walking through the same doors as the night before.

Alfred's eyes remained fixed on Princess Amisha as she walked ceremoniously to the head of the table. Today, she was clad in an emerald green bandeau top and she was sheathed with a sheer verdant sari with a matching skirt. The skirt had red vertical stripes on the front, but every other part has floral embroidery on it. Her neck was adorned with an emerald and diamond necklace that was less extravagant than the one she wore at dinner the night before, and matching earring dangled from her ears. On her forehead was a bright emerald bindi with a large stone set in silver as strings of diamonds were woven in her hair. The young man's heart melted as the royals took their seats, but the Raja Kumar Chatur soon joined Princess Amisha at her side. She glanced over and sighed, looking away quickly as her father stood up to make an important announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "It is not yet revealed to the public, but I am proud to announce the betrothal of my daughter, Rajkumari Amisha Mani, to the Crown Prince of Calcutta, Raja Kumar Chatur! We have not yet set a date for the royal wedding, but it will be in the coming months!"

Everybody clapped, even Alfred, but he only did it as a sign of respect and not to look like the rude one at the table. He watched the princess turn red with embarrassment as the raja stood up and raised his arms up, oozing pride from his boorish soul expecting everyone to go wild for him. When he realized it wasn't going to work, he sat back down in his seat; Alfred could see the pained, anguish look on Princess Amisha's face as they were served their breakfast.

Hot puri bread was on the special of the morning, along with dosas, or pancakes, and rice cakes called idlis; these were served with a lassi drink and with a relish made of mangoes and coconuts. Francis took great pleasure in eating such exquisite food, but because he was proud of being a Frenchman, he still thought that cuisine from his own country was the best. Ivan enjoyed the lassi beverage, as did Matthew, but Alfred did not eat much—he was too concentrated on assessing Princess Amisha's facial expressions throughout the meal. He watched as whenever the Raja tried talking to her, she would ignore him or say very few words. The truth was he didn't know what was _really_ going on at the head of the table.

"Smile, my dear," the raja sneered sinisterly at the princess, who was eating her breakfast. "You are to become a fine queen." She ignored him and didn't obey his order to bear a grin—she did not like him in that manner, and she hoped he would have realized that by now.

"Your Highness," he said, trying to make conversation with her. "You look divine in emerald green. Has anybody ever told you that?"

"Raja Kumar," she said, getting aggravated with his unwanted flirtations. "Please! I am trying to have my breakfast."

"Don't you dare speak to me in that fashion, rajkumari," he snapped in a forceful whisper.

"Then please hesitate to bother me about my clothing," she said coldly. "I dress this way all of the time."

"Are you going to temple today, rajkumari?" Raja Kumar Chatur asked.

"No," she fibbed. "I will be getting henna painted on my hands and forearms."

"That's a first. You are so devoted to religion, rajkumari," the prince said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure," she answered, continuing to finish her breakfast.

Later that morning, Alfred and Matthew were talking in the main hall together, and it was just outside of the dining hall. Alfred was busy telling his friend about what he observed in Princess Amisha's facial expressions during breakfast.

"My gosh, the princess looked beautiful this morning," Matthew said.

"Hmm, that's a first. You haven't complimented her like that before," Alfred indicated.

"Well, I was too busy eating to notice. The food is so good here," his friend sighed.

"She looked a bit pissed off, though," Alfred said. "Poor girl is being married off against her will."

"Really?" Matthew asked. "I thought that was customary over here."

"Nevertheless, she should be able to choose the man she wants to marry," Alfred disagreed. "Custom or not, you don't exchange your daughter for wealth."

"Exchange?" Matthew asked.

"Yes. The Maharaja is accepting more than half a million of their currency and a crap load of land in Calcutta for his daughter to marry the raja that stood up today at the head of the table," Alfred explained. "The princess told me herself."

"When were you with the princess?" his friend asked curiously.

"Last night. I heard someone crying in the hallway, and it was her, so I just helped her feel a bit happier," Alfred answered truthfully. "Francis thinks I am in love with her, but he's being a brainless jerk."

"She is beautiful," Matthew said with a contradicting sigh. "Are you sure? You seem to be…I don't know…fond of her."

"Well, I'm going to be brutally honest and say that I think I like her," Alfred answered frankly with a sigh. "But I know that there isn't anything she can do about her marriage. The king told her she had to, so she is going to do it regardless."

"That's not good," Matthew said with worry.

"I can't do anything but befriend her and feel sorry for her," Alfred said.

Just when he said this, Princess Amisha approached him with two of her servant girls standing behind her. Matthew greeted her, as did Alfred, bowing their heads respectfully. The pained look was still in her face as she looked at the two similar-looking men.

"Good morning," she said.

"Hello, Your Highness," Matthew said.

"Hi, Princess Amisha," Alfred said cheerfully. "How are you this morning?"

"I am well," she said with a sigh.

Alfred could tell she was telling a white lie—she was upset whether she wanted to admit it or not. The princess only told him that to keep a positive appearance, and she didn't want him to interfere completely with her life as a betrothed princess even though she saw him as a good soul. He looked at her, and returned the stare, looking into each other's eyes calmly.

"You look beautiful in green, Your Highness," Matthew said respectfully. Remembering the unpleasant compliment of the raja, she smiled anyway and thanked him, relieved it was not another unwanted statement.

"Thank you," she said. Her eyes turned back to Alfred, whose eyes remained on her with admiration.

"What do you normally do around here, princess?" he asked curiously, placing his hands in his pocket.

"Today, I am getting henna painted on my hands and arms," she answered.

"What?" he asked.

"Henna. It is body paint," Princess Amisha said.

"Is it necessary?" Alfred asked.

"Necessary to show people that I am…getting married," Princess Amisha replied with a sad sigh.

"Hey, don't sweat it, princess," he said, moving closer to her as he stared into her intense blue eyes. "I bet you will make a great queen."

"I must be off to temple," she said after a moment of silence. "I told the raja I would not go in order to have my hands and arms painted, but I truly do not want him praying by my side. Who knows what strange things he will pray for?"

"Oh," Matthew said, walking away from the two.

"Where are you going?" Alfred asked, keeping a strange look on him.

"I'll leave you two alone," his friend said, walking off to meet with Ivan, Arthur and Francis. Alfred remained with the princess, looking at her with appreciation of her beauty and regal splendor.

"Alfred," the princess said. "I was going to inquire that you come to temple with me."

"Me? I don't think I should," he replied. The princess looked at him.

"Why not?" she questioned.

"I'm Catholic," he responded.

"Oh," the princess said. "You are of a different faith."

"Yeah," he responded, changing his tone of voice to sound more enthusiastic about her request. "But, if you still want me to go with you, I can. I'd…actually…like to see and learn how you guys worship."

"Oh," the princess muttered. "Thank you very much."

Still dressed in her finery, the princess ordered a few servants to get an elephant prepared to go to the temple just a few miles away from the palace. Alfred let Princess  
Amisha go on the elephant's back first shortly before he got on, and the elephant walked sludgy along the dirt road leading them to the temple. During their hour-long trip to the temple, the princess and Alfred talked, delving deeper into each other's cultures.

"So, what is Hinduism like?" he asked. Princess Amisha, who sat in front of him and unknowingly pleased him with the clean scent of jasmine and lavender, turned her head to glance at him before answering his question.

"Hinduism is like any other faith, I suppose," she told him. "We have many gods we pray to—Krishna, Vishnu, Shiva, Kali, Sarasvati, Ganesha, Durga, just to name a few."

"How many are there?" Alfred asked.

"Many," she said.

"Which one do you pray to the most?" he questioned, dying to learn more.

"That is a hard answer to give. I respect all of the gods," Princess Amisha said.

"Well, I'm Catholic and we only have one God," Alfred said. "Ever hear about the story of Jesus?"

"I am familiar with it, but I was raised Hindu," the princess said calmly.

"I understand that," Alfred said. "I was only asking if you knew how it went."

"I am familiar with it, but I have not been taught to believe in one god," the princess told him as they came closer to the temple.

"I'm not trying to make you Catholic or whatever," Alfred said, trying to assure her.

"I know," the princess answered.

"You seem so defensive," he argued.

"Why would you think such thoughts?" she asked.

"You just seem…well…I'm happy to see you devoted to religion," Alfred told her calmly. "Even if it isn't mine, I'm happy to see that you have faith in something."

"I appreciate your admiration," she answered as they were taken closer to the temple. When they came off the elephant, the princess looked at Alfred, who stood next to her, marveling at the beautiful architecture of the building.

"This is my temple," she told him proudly.


	10. Chapter 10

The outside of the temple was beautifully carved, depicting numerous supreme beings with both animals and strange mythical beasts Alfred had never seen before. Some were even beautifully painted in great detail in shades of blue, red, black, green, and numerous other hues. The princess watched him as he stared with wonder at the outside of the temple, and without warning, she took his hand into hers and began to lead him through the entrance.

"Come," she said. "Stay by my side in prayer, even if it is not your god."

It was within a few minutes that Alfred finally felt the smooth texture of her white hands. He looked down, and noticed that her nails were a perfect length on the tops of her smooth, delicate fingers. They were a little past the nailbed, filed and polished perfectly for a brilliant shine. Then, his eyes wandered the vicinity, absorbing the images of candlelit altars with blue, multiple-arms deities with offerings of flowers or small trinkets. A few worshippers looked to see the beautiful woman walking hand-in-hand with the blond stranger, realizing that it was the rajkumari herself.

"It is the princess," everyone whispered in their native language. Suddenly, a few small children, three girls and a little boy, approached her primly. They were dressed simply, as if they were from the village led by Bandhu, and they had dark skin, hair and eyes.

"I am happy to finally meet you, Your Majesty," a little girl said in Hindi. The princess smiled down at the children and bent down to give each a friendly hug.

"And to you, little one," she replied in the same language. Alfred watched her as she greeted the children as respectfully as they did her, and he really liked that she had a soft side for little kids. His lips formed a closed smile as a Hindu priest walked up to her and smiled, bearing his grimy, spacey grin.

"Your Highness, it is so good to see you again," the priest said in his mother tongue, still smiling. "Bless you." Returning his bowing, praying hands gesture, she smiled as her jewelry made noise against her fine clothing.

"Bless you as well, Pujari," she said in like kind. The priest walked up to Alfred, who smiled at him with childlike wonder.

"Who is this?" he asked the princess in their language.

"He is called Alfred," Princess Amisha said. "He is a guest at the palace for a while. Also, he is a good, jovial soul." The priest looked at him and smiled again.

"Bless you, sir," he said in Hindi, touching his forehead gently before walking away from the two. Alfred looked confused, and the princess took note of this, looking into his eyes vigilantly.

"He blessed you," she told him. "I told him how good of a soul you are."

"You did?" he asked.

"Yes," Princess Amisha said, walking through a doorway through a hall. Following her a few feet behind, he watched as she entered a highly decorated room.

The walls were crimson red, but the color was so dark and dimly lit by the candles on the altar. A statue depicting a four-armed, blue-skinned deity with a highly ornate headdress and clothing, holding a variety of objects in his four hands. Alfred grew curious, standing near the doorway as he watched Princess Amisha bow before the altar and start muttering in Sanskrit.

"_Vishnu, Protector of All,_

_I come to you today for assistance and protection,_

_As I am betrothed to a raja for whom I have no love in my heart._

_Protect my heart,_

_Protect it from all evils,_

_From all forms of hate,_

_And from all having to do with the raja._

_Though I have no control over what you have in store for me,_

_Please protect my heart from the raja or any form of hate._

_Thank you, and bless._"

Intrigued by the different language she was speaking, Alfred walked closer to the princess, who was kneeling on a cushion before the altar with her eyes closed, visualizing her heart in protective, divine hands. He sat down next to her, but the princess was so deeply involved in silent prayer that she completely forgot that he was in the room with her. The smell of frankincense, which came out of a brazier in the form of sweet-smelling smoke, was pleasing to Alfred as he watched the princess stand up and take something out of a pouch that was hung discreetly around her waist. She took out a small flask of perfume and poured a few drops into Vishnu's offering bowl.

"Thank you," she said in her language.

"What god is this?" Alfred asked.

"It is Vishnu, the protector of all," Princess Amisha said, looking up into his eyes before leaving the room. Alfred followed her until she stopped at an altar where a tall statue of a green-skinned man seated on a bird with a bow and arrow stood illuminated by the light of twenty candles. Before she prayed, Princess Amisha made another perfume offering to Kamadeva, god of love and desire. She knelt as Alfred stood there, watching her mutter another prayer in Sanskrit:

"_Kamadeva, ruler of love and carnal desire,_

_I come to you asking for my true love._

_I will pay no mind to his caste,_

_His race, his appearance, or his origin._

_I ask that you send me a man who loves me_

_As much as I will love him._

_I know I am betrothed to a raja,_

_But I do not love him._

_If he be my true love,_

_Open my heart to make room for amorous feelings._

_If he is not my true love,_

_Reveal it to me in real life or a dream._

_I will wait as patiently as you desire me to._

_Thank you and bless._"

Within a half hour, Princess Amisha greeted all of the 'gods' at their respective altars, and with each muttered sound of her foreign tongue, Alfred became more intrigued. He watched her as she made her way for the entrance of the temple, and as soon as they were outside, he stopped her, curious to know what she was praying for.

"Princess, who was that? At the altar?" Alfred questioned.

"Kamadeva," she said calmly, looking into his eyes lovingly. "God of…human love."

"Human love?" he asked, the anticipation of finding out what she prayed for killing him as moments passed. "What did you pray to those two gods in specific for?"

"I refuse to share," she said as her servant helped her onto the elephant's back.

"Why?" he asked with a mordant attitude.

"Because I choose not to," Princess Amisha said. Those were her last words during the trip back to the palace.

Being exposed to a different religion and their worship practices was an entirely new experience for Alfred, whose family seemed to be dominated by the teachings of Jesus and his Catholic religion. His parents were religious to some degree, but they were not devoutly Catholic. Still, they had sent him and his younger sister, Amelia, to a Catholic school in Chicago, where he attended both elementary and high school before going to WashingtonDC for college. Proud of the experience of that day, he and the princess entered the palace quietly.

The main hall was empty—not a single person in the room. This shocked Princess Amisha to the point where she grew anxious. What if Raja Kumar Chatur was hiding behind a pillar, waiting to interrogate her about her whereabouts? What would he do if he found out that she had lied to him just to be with Alfred at the temple? The fact that she was barefoot helped her tip-toe across the floor to the staircase, but the sound of her golden ankle bells was a major drawback. She heard footsteps, and she was full of relief once she saw that it was her maids.

"Your Highness, we have been looking for you for over an hour," one of them said in Hindi. "We were going to paint henna on you."

"Yes, of course," the princess replied, going up the stairs with them. Before she was out of sight, her blue eyes looked down at Alfred, who stared up at her with a blank expression on his face.

The young man sighed, assessing his inner feelings toward the princess. He knew that it was probably only lust he felt toward her, but he also knew that there was a lot to love about Rajkumari Amisha Mani—her weak point for children, her assertiveness, her regal, graceful bearing, and most of all, her extreme beauty that was famed throughout the east. Suddenly, he heard footsteps; this made him anxious. Was it Arthur? Francis? Ivan? Matthew? Or worse—was it Raja Kumar Chatur? His lower lip trembled and his heart raced, but it stopped once he saw Arthur walking toward him.

"Alfred! Where have you been?" the Englishman asked. "Ivan, Francis, Matthew and I are planning on helping Mr. Smith and Mr. Wilson find the missing jewel."

"Sounds cool," Alfred said. "I'm part of it, I hope."

"Yes, of course. You're in our group," Arthur told him. "You still didn't answer my question."

"Yeah, what question?" Alfred questioned nonchalantly.

"Where have you been the past hour or so?" the Englishman questioned.

"Oh, I was just with Princess Amisha," Alfred said, his voice turning to an inaudible whisper in case the raja was around. Unsurprisingly, Raja Kumar was standing discreetly at the top of the stairs, clenching the railing with frustration as he watched the two blond men speak to each other.

"Really? Where were you both?" Arthur asked quietly. Alfred moved closer and whispered in his ear.

"The temple," he whispered. "It's a couple miles from here."

"Why are we whispering, Alfred?" Arthur questioned, looking at him strangely.

"Because she told the raja that she wouldn't go to the temple this morning and God only knows what he'd do if he found out she lied to him," Alfred whispered again. "That Raja Kumar is a creepy guy."

"Yes, I agree. He is more intimidating, though," Arthur said.

The raja looked down at the American and Englishman with hate in his fiery, glowing eyes. His teeth gritted and his heart raced with unparalleled fury. He didn't know what they were really saying, nor did he see the princess enter the palace with Alfred. He had only seen her moments before with her maids getting ready to do henna body paint on her, but the raja had even worse insinuations about what the two men were talking about. _Those men do not know who they are dealing with_, he thought in his head_, how dare they whisper in my presence! I demand to know what they are saying! If they are talking about my bride to-be in a lewdly, unpleasant manner, I will have more throats to slit than I have to. I know what I must do—take the rajkumari away from here as soon as possible._


	11. Chapter 11

_SLAM! SLAM!_

"_Big brother!" Natalya shouted, banging on Ivan's bedroom door. He locked himself in the room, and he rearranged the bed-frame to that he could easily hide behind it. His lips trembled, nervous dripped down his face, and he struggled so that if Natalya were to break in, he could hide from incestuous advances._

"_Let's become one! You know you want to!" she said with extreme desperation. "Why do you have to be such a jerk all the goddamn time?!"_

_Ivan grew even more frightened of the sound of scratching against the wooden door. It sounded violent and painful, hurting his ears to the point where he whimpered just to distract himself from the sound. His heart races with extreme trepidation as Natalya continued scratching and shouting through the door._

"_Open this damn door right this instant!" she demanded with a hissing shriek. "Let me in, brother! Let me in!"_

"_Go away!" Ivan finally said, having the courage to speak as she continued scratching and clawing at the door. Suddenly, he heard something hit his upright bed-frame—peeking his head out to see what it was, he saw the doorknob, still attached to a small piece of broken wood, and Natalya standing there, her well-dressed silhouette in the light of the hallway._

"_Big brother, the doorknob that was keeping us apart is now broken," she said in a creepy whisper. "Isn't that nice?" He continued looking at her, frightened by her presence as she continued talking and begging desperately for his love._

"_Now, big brother," she began. "Marry me! Marry me! Marry me! Marry me! Marry me!" The chanting continued, and Ivan reached his last resort of non-violent defense._

"Go away! Go away! Go away!" he chanted out loud, deeply scared by his nightmare later that night. He tossed and turned violently as he continued chanting, waking up anybody who had been sleeping in the neighboring guest bedrooms. A few servant girls burst the door open and began chattering frantically in Hindi, as Francis, Arthur, Matthew, and finally Alfred came into the room to see what all the commotion was about.

"You woke me up, wanker!" Arthur complained wearily.

"I was in the middle of my beauty sleep!" Francis wailed in a hissy fit.

"What's the matter? Why were you telling someone to go away? Who was in here?" Matthew asked, trying to shake him awake.

Ivan's eyes opened, relieved it was only a dream. His breathing was heavy, and he felt a bit embarrassed to have all those people in his guest room. With the back of his hand, he wiped his forehead of any perspiration that emanated from his pores during his scary dream. Matthew and Alfred both stared down at him, eager to know what had scared him so much in his sleep.

"Natalya," the Russian whispered. "She's gone."

"What?" Alfred asked. "What's going on here?"

"I had…a nightmare," Ivan said with a heavy, dramatic pant. "Tell everyone to leave, if you can."

Alfred gestured toward the doorway, looking at the servant girls who had barged in upon hearing his cries. The women looked at him, but then saw where he was pointing at and they left upon request. He then sat on the bed, listening attentively to Ivan as he spoke.

"Who is this…Natalya?" Arthur questioned.

"Natalya Arlovskaya Braginsky. My little sister," Ivan said with a nervous sigh. "I have another sister who is older than us, Irunya. Natalya is the youngest, and she has been obsessed with me since we were children."

"That's messed up," Alfred responded. "Is she, like, in love with you or something?"

"She always said she was," Ivan said. "She even tried touching me at times, and it was not pleasant because our parents didn't believe me and thought I was lying."

"Ew!" Arthur exclaimed with disgust.

"Just before leaving for St. Petersburg for college, Natalya was chasing after me and tried forcing me to marry her. I would never marry her even if we were not blood related," Ivan explained.

"So, what happened?" Arthur asked inquisitively.

"I locked myself in my bedroom," he told them with fright in his heavily accented voice. "I thought she wouldn't find me, but I guess it was obvious because my door was locked shut. I lifted my bedframe up so I could hide behind it. Then she started begging for me like a dog would for a bone. She scratched so much at my door that she broke the doorknob and…she…that was my nightmare."

As Ivan whimpered, the other group members looked at him with deep concern. It was rather obvious why Ivan had gone away to study in the first place, even though they didn't know what part of Russia Ivan was born and raised in. The answer to be revealed.

"I was raised in a small town in Siberia, and I went away for college so I could get away from her. She is currently studying in Belarus," Ivan told them.

"So, this past school year has been a relief, I guess," Francis inferred.

"Yes," Ivan said. "Very much. All the abuse I had to go through with her made me fear her a lot. I managed to make my way through, nonetheless."

"Well, I am proud of you," Arthur said sincerely. "You fought through it and made it out from under her thumb."

"Yes, it still hurts me to think about it. Irunya never treated me that way, but that is only because she is the only mentally stable sibling of the three of us," he elaborated sadly.

"Mentally stable? What's wrong with you?" Francis questioned.

"Me and Natalya both have mental illnesses. Hers is much worse, though," Ivan told him.

"What do you have?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know. There weren't any doctors close enough to diagnose us in our little Siberian town," Ivan said. "I'm glad that part of my life is over, though."

"Yes, I agree," Matthew said. "It must have been terrible."

"It was," Ivan said. "I still have nightmares from time to time."

Alfred looked toward the open doorway and saw no one but Princess Amisha standing there with a jar candle in her hand. It illuminated her face perfectly in the darkness, but little did he or the other group members know that her light blue nightgown was sheer—every part of her unclothed body could have easily been seen had she been in a better, well-lit setting. Alfred didn't notice, but he approached her quickly, getting her alone in the hall with him as he closed the door.

"What is wrong?" Princess Amisha questioned Alfred. "Are you alright?"

"It isn't me," he replied. "It's Ivan, my group member."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he had a nightmare about his sister," Alfred said, answering her question.

"That's horrible," she said. "I hope she is well."

"No, princess, I don't think you understand," Alfred said.

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused by his statement.

"His sister is obsessed with him," Alfred told her.

"Really? She is in love with him?" Princess Amisha asked, her face filled with shock and incredulity.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm sorry. It wasn't his fault that you were woken up."

"You do not need to apologize," the princess told him assertively in a soft, feminine whisper. "It is perfectly fine."

"Well, then, princess," Alfred said silently, bowing his head respectfully. "Good night."

Before he could walk down the hall and back to his guest bedroom, the princess stopped him, holding his hand. Intrigued by her sudden movement, Alfred stared down into her eyes, letting his arms wrap around her tiny waist as if they had minds of their own. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he knew it wouldn't be right. After all, he was a commoner and a foreigner—an unfit match for the daughter of the Maharaja.

The hallway was dark, and nobody was present, not even the raja, who was sleeping in the other half of the palace where the royal bedchambers were. The two were free to embrace or kiss if they wanted to, and as their faces drew closer in the extremely dim darkness, their lips met. There were no second thoughts—Princess Amisha's prayers to Kamadeva were answered, and Alfred knew there was no turning back.

The princess moaned quietly as their lips met in a tender, but passionate kiss. It was her first kiss, and she was happy that it was with the one who seemed to truly care for her as both a woman and a princess. The henna-painted hands of the princess went from being behind Alfred's neck to resting on his chest, breaking the kiss to look up into his sky blue orbs amorously.

"Alfred," she whispered, placing one of her henna-designed hands on his cheek.

"I love you, princess," he confessed with deep, sincere emotion. "I've only known you for such a short time, but I feel so connected to you."

"You…do?" she asked. "But…you are…"

"I'm _what_, princess?" Alfred asked. "I…I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry," she said, placing her index finger to his lips gently. "I love you, Alfred."

Smiling down at her, he picked her up off her feet and carried her quietly to his guest bedroom, setting her back down to shut the door tightly so no one could disturb them. His room was better lit, the light contributed by the candle the princess held in her hands that she set on the dresser. Alfred looked at her, finally noticing the curve of her full breasts and the lines of her narrow waist and wider hips; the vision of her with nothing on at all enticed him even more. He moved closer to her and gazed down into her eyes.

"When was the last time you let your heart decide?" he asked her. After a brief moment of thought, the princess had her answer.

"I…well…never," she told him.

"We don't have to if you don't want to, Princess Amisha," Alfred added. She shook her head, running her delicate, florally-painted fingers down the front of her light blue, sheer nightgown to where it tied at her waist.

"No," she began with a soft, delicate tone of voice. "I would much rather give my virtue to you than Raja Kumar Chatur."

"You're a virgin," he said.

"Yes," the princess answered lustfully.

"I am, too," Alfred said in a gentle whisper, blushing at his honesty. "I've never been with a woman like this before. I'll make it extra special just for you. I love you, Princess Amisha."

Without hesitation, she undid the tie on the front of her gown, letting the smooth, cool sheer fabric slid open on her beautiful white skin. Alfred moved forward and looked down at her shapely form underneath the sheer nightgown, and he opened it slowly and gently, savoring the moment when she was fully naked in front of him.

She was a goddess, and the moment her nightgown hit the floor, he gasped. Underneath all of the jewelry and fine clothing she wore on a daily basis was a beautiful form only attainable by a female deity. Her bosom was full and her nipples were hard, perhaps from the slight bit of nervousness she got once he saw her fully unclothed. Her waist was narrow and small, but her hips were shapely, forming a perfect hourglass frame on the princess. Alfred cupped her delicate face in his hand and he kissed her briefly.

"You are so beautiful," he said, gazing into her vivid blue eyes. "My princess. My goddess. My everything."

Her eyes moved down to the buttons of his pajama top, and when she began unbuttoning them, he began twirling a piece of her long, curling black hair. In her hair was the usual string of hair jewels, but unlike the few times he had seen and spoken with her, it was entirely loose and down. The jeweled bindi hung from her forehead, sparkling as bright as her eyes did. Princess Amisha removed his pajama shirt gently and slowly, dropping it on the floor with her sheer nightgown. Running her hands gently down his toned torso, the princess saw that he was lanky, but very strong. Then, her fingers caressed his shoulders gently as Alfred leaned down to kiss the exotic beauty.

Their noses brushed during their passionate kiss, holding her so tightly that he wrapped her legs around his waist to bring her to the bed. Princess Amisha moaned with pleasure as he moved down to her thin, graceful neck, leaving kisses along her fine jawline and the crook, gently sucking until he found her most sensitive spot. The princess held him close to her as he kissed, licked, and sucked the side her neck fervently.

"Ah!" she moaned, being ginger so she wouldn't wake anybody up.

"Hmm," Alfred said, the vibration from his speech adding to her arousal.

His lips gently brushed her clavicle, and then he began kissing her fullness. Every kiss he left on her bare breasts was tender but passionate, but once he began licking and sucking on her nipples, she began moaning uncontrollably.

"Al…Alfred," she sighed, sounding as though his name were sacred. Every sigh, moan, and ecstatic pant that came from the princess' mouth made his member grow harder by the minute, but her moaning grew silent when he started caressing them gently.

"I wish I were Indian," Alfred said finally.

"What?" the princess asked, waiting for him to repeat what he said as she enjoyed the sensation of his touch and the emotions that came with it.

"I wish I were an Indian prince, so I could marry you without problems," he repeated. "I bet it's good to be king."

"Being royal has its setbacks, Alfred," she told him silently, sighing from his soft touch after. "Do not wish for my life."

He kept his eyes locked on hers as he moved lower to kiss her flat abdomen. As his hands were on the sides of her hips, the princess arched her back and moaned, bucking her hips in case he decided to go further. Gently parting her legs, Alfred situated himself gradually by kissing her white, smooth thighs gently before his tongue found its way to her divinity.

Princess Amisha gasped and suppressed passionate moans as his tongue traced around her warm, slick folds lightly. He smiled devilishly up at the princess, whose back was arched significantly to show him that she loved what he was doing to her. She gripped the messy, silk bedspread tightly as he continued to torment her. He then started sucking on the bundle of nerves above her entrance, which made her let out an involuntary scream.

"Alfred!" she shouted, drawn into the whirlpool of ecstasy. "Kāmadēva nē mērī prārthanā suna lī hai." Hearing her speak her foreign tongue, he stopped and grew curious about what she had said.

"What did you say?" he questioned with a cheerful smile.

"Kamadeva," she began, respiring heavily from the pleasure. "He has answered my prayers." He giggled in response to this, a different connotation filling his mind.

"You were praying for this, weren't you?" he asked just before kissing her nether region again. His hands continued to hold her hips, which buck up to his face to show she wanted more.

"No," she said. "I prayed for Vishnu to protect my heart, and I prayed to Kamaveda to send me my true love. I suppose he has already sent him to me. I just was blind to see that it was you all along."

"Oh, my princess," he said, his words impassioning him as he teased her entrance with his index finger. He put it in gently, making her gasp as he went in and out of her tightness. Alfred was gentle with her, but when he put in another finger, the princess gasped and nearly screamed when she felt him put pressure on her coiling, tight walls.

"Maiṁ aba isē lē jā sakatē haiṁ," she said noisily as she felt her release all over his hand. At an instant, he bent down and licked her clean, savoring her uniquely sweet natural taste. The princess watched him as he knelt between her legs, removing his pajama pants and underpants together. She gasped at the sight of his member—it was average sized, but it looked much bigger when erect. He moved closer to her, lying on top of her, kissing her gently as he broke her virgin walls gently with a single thrust.

"Ah! It hurts!" she whimpered, clawing his shoulders with her filed nails.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Want me to stop?"

"No, I want to go all the way," she said passionately as she caressed his face gently. "Please take me, Alfred."

As he continued to thrust in and out of her gently, Princess Amisha moaned and whimpered as the pain that once made her body ridden with nerves transitioned to pleasure. Alfred also savored his first moments inside of a woman; after all, this was his first time as well. He had a few high school girlfriends, but none of them were serious—with the princess of India, he felt a deep connection that could only be consummated if they married or made love.

"Alfred," she sighed. "Harder."

"OK," he whispered, increasing his speed and amount of pressure. She arched against him and moaned from the pleasure she was getting from him.

"Ah! Oh!" she moaned.

"It feels so good," Alfred said.

"Kiss me," the princess pleaded.

He leaned down and their lips met in a passionate kiss. The princess continued to moan even as their tongues danced between their lips. There was no fight for dominance simply because they were happy just being with each other. Princess Amisha knew how badly her reputation would be ruined if people found out about her new romance with Alfred, but it didn't matter to her because she knew that she would rather lose her virginity to someone like Alfred than to the raja after marriage.

"Ah! Alfred! It is amazing!" she said loudly with passion.

"Yes! I know!" he groaned.

Alfred rolled on his back and let the princess take some control over him. As she rode him, she ran her fingers gently down his toned chest, her breasts bouncing as Alfred enjoyed himself as well. The princess' hair jewels made a silent noise as she arched her back and neck, giving into the deep emotions buried within her heart. She slowed down, pacing herself as she moaned loudly.

"Oh yes!" she shouted. "Alfred!"

"Oh, princess! Ah, yeah!" he responded, holding her hips as she bounced up and down on his member.

He rolled her over on her back once more, taking her legs and putting them around his waist so he could delve deeper into her depths. Once his member reached her bodily limit, Princess Amisha clawed his flawless, smooth back, moaning uncontrollably as she felt herself reach her climax. Alfred buried his face in the crook of her neck, kissing it gently as he inhaled the sweet scent of jasmine and lavender.

"I can no longer take it!" she shouted.

"Me, neither," he said.

Without warning, he pulled out of her and jacked himself off, releasing his seed onto Princess Amisha's abdomen. The sensation was odd, but she got some of his fluid on her finger and tasted it, liking it as much as he liked her taste.

"Hmm," she moaned gently as she wiped the rest of it off her form.

Alfred and Princess Amisha got under the silk bedspread together and held each other close, looking into each other's eyes lovingly.

"I love you," Alfred told her, kissing her cheek gently. "You are beautiful, and I love that you are compassionate and assertive. I saw you with the children at the temple yesterday."

"I love children," the princess admitted. "They are our future, and they represent the beauty in everything. I cannot wait to have my own."

"I can see why," Alfred said. "You will make a wonderful mother and a great queen."

"I love you, too, Alfred," she told him.

Smiling, she closed her eyes and held him close to her, resting her head against his beating heart as he kissed the top of her head, caressing her hair until he fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

The following morning, Alfred got up from his bed and washed himself up, getting dressed in a white shirt, red tie, and black slacks once he was all dry. He looked over at the silk-covered bed, remembering his intimate night making love to the princess. During the wee hours of morning, Princess Amisha got out from his protective embrace as they slept and got dressed back in her sheer nightgown, sneaking back into her bedroom to make it look as though nothing had happened. Alfred was aware of this, and he distinctly remembered her bending down to kiss him once more before she left. He didn't want her to leave, but he knew it inevitable had to happen.

After breakfast that morning, the four other group members approached Alfred to discuss the festival in Delhi to celebrate the betrothal of Rajkumari Amisha Mani and Raja Kumar Chatur. Like any royal wedding, this festival would be quite extravagant, where the future Maharaja and Maharani would interact with their people together and celebrate with them. Francis, in particular, was very excited.

"Oui! A party! I'm so glad we are staying long enough to see the princess get married!" the Frenchman said happily.

"No, Francis," Arthur argued. "The only reason we are staying is to help Mr. Smith and Mr. Winston find where the jewel of Delhi is hiding."

"Aw, quiet you!" Francis said.

"No, _you_ be quiet, wanker!" Arthur said, raising his fist as he grabbed the front of the Frenchman's shirt.

"Stop it, you two!" Matthew ordered. "We'll be thrown out of here!" Suddenly, he noticed the sad expression on Alfred's face, and in his vivid, sky blue eyes were hints of sadness.

"Are you alright, Alfred? You look upset about something," he asked.

"I'm fine," his friend answered. The truth was he was far from fine—the love of his life was being married off against her will, and the bad part was that neither of them could do anything about it.

"You don't sound fine, Alfred. I know when you are upset, and right now…you look upset," Matthew said. His friend sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead gently as he closed his eyes.

"Fine," he told him expressionlessly. "I'm not alright. You're right."

"What's the matter?" he asked. Alfred sighed and looked at him, moving closer to him to whisper to him.

"I am in love with the princess, Matthew," he said quietly so no one could hear him.

Matthew looked at his friend in shock—it wasn't really a surprise that Alfred loved Princess Amisha. Everything about her, from her divine beauty to her compassionate side, her assertiveness toward others to her regal, graceful bearing and the love she had for children, made every one of her people adore her and look up to her with reverence and dignity. To Alfred, she was ideal—he knew that the night he spent with her would most likely never happen again in his lifetime. The emotions felt between the two as they released their tensions to help each other relieve them in a way that no one else could do effectively.

"You are? Isn't everyone?" his friend asked.

"Not like I am, and I'll be damned if she is married off against her will," Alfred told him in the same quiet whisper. "If only there was some way to change the Maharaja's mind."

"No, that will _not_ work, Alfred," Matthew said with reason in his calm voice. "He probably just views you as some commoner who is unfit for his daughter."

"I am not ready for marriage yet," Alfred said, looking him in the eyes. "Even if I were ready, I would still fight for her hand as hard as I humanly could."

"I'd be willing to bet you would need_ tons_ of luck to achieve that," Matthew said.

At noon, the procession began in the streets of Delhi. Almost everyone had come from near and far to see and celebrate the long-awaited betrothal of the princess to the wealthy, mysterious Raja Kumar Chatur. Female dancers dressed in colorful clothing made of fine fabrics twirled around, tossing pink rose petals around as a large elephant sludged through the streets with the Maharaja, who waved enthusiastically at his people wearing a big grin on his face as he sat in a chair strapped onto the elephant. The next elephant got the most attention, however, for it carried Princess Amisha with the raja next to her. In her intense blue eyes, there was a kind of hidden sadness, but to please her people, she put a smile on her face and waved. Inside, she hated being betrothed, let alone in the presence of the Raja of Calcutta, but still, she kept a pleasant appearance—no person in a country ruled by an emperor or king would want to see an unhappy royal.

In the crowd, Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Matthew, and Ivan stood in the front, watching elephants and small floats as they went by. Quite a few small children had strange paint colored on their upper bodies, arms, and bare feet, running around in search of treats or their parents to hold their hands. Once the five men caught sight of the princess and the raja in the chair strapped to their elephant, Alfred gasped in awe of the sight of her clothing—it was so extravagant, but more so than what she usually wore.

"Ah, she is _trés belle_!" Francis said, blowing a kiss at the princess up on the elephant.

Rajkumari Amisha Mani seemed to be dripping in diamonds, at least that's what it looked like from Alfred's perspective. Her peachy-pink dress had many small diamonds and rhinestones sewn into the fabric to make a luxurious design. She wore her sari on her head, and her jeweled bindi had small Swarovski crystals in light pink dropping from the gold part of the jewel. However, he became suspicious of her smile. _Oh no_, he thought sadly, _has she finally fallen in love with the raja? Wait, no! She hates him_. He squinted for a better look in her eyes from the yards-long distance. _Her eyes look so sad, and she looked a bit uncomfortable. Hmm. Oh! She's trying to please her people by looking happy! Yeah, that's definitely it!_

Up in the double chair, Princess Amisha smiled and waved at her people, and the raja was glad to finally see his bride smiling. He snickered and moved closer to her, and once she felt his breath on her neck, she jerked up and looked at him strangely.

"It's good to see you are finally happy with me, Your Highness," Raja Kuamr Chatur said slyly. She ignored him and rolled her eyes, putting the smile back on her face as she continued waving to her people. The raja got frustrated with her disobedience and continued to creep on her.

"Keep showing your people that you are happy," he whispered, making her turn her head around to look at him. "You may never see them again one day."

"What makes you say such things?" she questioned.

"Time is with you or against you," he said. "It will always pass."

His strange words and riddle speak stuck with her for the rest of the festival. At about six o'clock that evening, the princess tried to get her mind off the raja's scary poetic depth to dance with a few children in the city square. As the children giggled and were happy about being with the Rajkumari Amisha Mani, the five amateur archaeologists stood watching her socialize light-heartedly with the young ones.

"Ah," Alfred sighed, refusing to keep his eyes off her.

"She seems to have a way with little children," Ivan said with a warm smile.

"She does," Arthur agreed. Matthew looked at them, and then at Alfred, who looked lovestruck as he kept his eyes on her. _It's no wonder he loves her_, he thought, _I can definitely see why_.

While dancing in a circle with five boys and four girls, a strange man she had never seen before tapped her on the shoulder, and when she turned around, she gasped at the pleasant sight of a seemingly lusty young man no older than seventeen with great, almond-shaped black eyes, dark hair, and russet skin, looking at her with a jovial smile on his face.

"It is wonderful to meet you, Your Highness," he said in Hindi, getting on his knees and bowing so low that his forehead touched the ground. Princess Amisha was particularly flattered—though she was not a Muslim, she was familiar with how they bowed reverently in prayer when facing the city of Mecca. In a way, it made her feel like one of the unearthly goddesses she worshipped in her Hindu faith.

"What is your name?" she asked, charmed by the young man. _Where is Alfred_, she thought in her head as she glanced around for him.

"Just call me Ravi, Your Highness," the young man said, staring into her eyes.

"That is the name of my father," Princess Amisha said.

"I am named for him. He is a great man," Ravi told her, encircling her slowly to admire her extravagant form of dress. The princess felt somewhat uncomfortable with him, but listened to what he needed to say anyway. "I congratulate you for your upcoming marriage to the Raja of Calcutta."

"Oh," she said, sounding sad. "Thank you."

"You do not seem satisfied," Ravi said, moving closer to her as he stared into her intense blue eyes. She sighed and waited for him to speak as her discomfort grew worse.

"In fact, I have a wedding gift for you both. Will you be willing to accept it?" he asked.

Princess Amisha looked at him long and hard before giving an answer. She had never met this person, and that fact alone gave her fleeting suspicions about him. However, he looked so innocent and handsome, which at the same time made the princess' suspicions go away. Ravi held her hand gently and led her away from the city square to a seemingly dark alley way. The princess wasn't scared, but she regretted going with him even though she had no answer for him.

"Well?" the princess asked. "Ravi?" She noticed her disappeared from sight, and as she looked around, a she felt a hard blow to her head.

_BAM!_

With that, she fell to the ground, her jewels making a noise so loud that Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith, who were walking by with refreshments, heard the sound and rushed to see where and what the source was. Before they could identify it at the exact spot Princess Amisha fell unconscious, they saw Ravi carrying a long, heavy bag made of woven twine with two strong men, and they immediately grew suspicious.

"What do you have there?" Mr. Winston questioned, looking at him with trepidation. Ravi, immediately growing nervous, let a free hand go to point at the mule-drawn, wooden-framed wagon on which they threw the unconscious, shrouded princess.

"Take her to the temple! NOW!" Ravi shouted frantically in Hindi, running to catch up to the rapidly-moving wagon as he jumped onto it, sitting next to Princess Amisha's lifeless body.

Mr. Smith and Mr. Winston looked down at the ground, seeing a bunch of sparkling objects in the darkness. Mr. Winston picked a few of the objects up and took them closer to him, adjusting his glasses only to realize that they were diamonds that fell off the princess' clothing.

"Oh my Lord!" he shouted frantically.

"What are those?" Mr. Smith questioned, looking at his partner with dangerous curiosity.

Running back to the city square, he held the jewel specimens in his hands as he looked around for the five young men who were supposed to be in China to study artifacts from the Yangtze River.

"Mr. Jones! Mr. Bonnefoy!" Mr. Winston shouted.

"Mr. Braginsky! Mr. Kirkland?!" Mr. Smith called out. The young men sprinted upon hearing their names called, and looked around until they saw the two older gentleman holding the sparkling pieces of evidence.

"What's the matter, gentlemen?" Arthur questioned. Mr. Winston, still holding the jewels, held them up in his palm for him to see.

"The princess," he began with a huge amount of worry as the diamonds glistened in the dark. "She's been taken!"


	13. Chapter 13

"What?!" Alfred exclaimed, approaching to two older Englishmen with worry in both his face and tone of voice. He peered down at the jewels that were lying in Mr. Winston's open palm. Remembering all of the diamonds and sequins sewn into the princess' clothes, he grew nervous inside, his heart moving up to his throat before he could speak.

"We got to find her!" he shouted, running away from the group.

"Mr. Jones! We do not know where she was taken!" Mr. Smith said, stopping him in his tracks so he could turn and look at them.

"We must warn the king!" Ivan suggested frantically. "I don't see this as turning out good_." I swear, I'll kill anybody who tries to hurt her_, Alfred thought as anger built up within him anxiously.

"Are we just going to stand here?!" Arthur shouted. "Where in bloody hell is the Maharaja?"

In a distinct rush, Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Matthew, Ivan, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith ran frantically around the city square, desperate to find the Maharaja to warn him of his daughter's sudden disappearance. Alfred, being the most concerned about her because he loved her, shouted for her hopelessly with passersby staring at him as if he had two heads.

"Your Highness? Your Highness the Maharaja?" Mr. Winston and Francis each called out, hoping to come across someone who worked for the Maharaja if it were not himself coming to answer their calls.

"Maharaja!" Arthur called out, joined by Matthew, whose voice was weak in comparison to the cynical young Englishman. Meanwhile, Alfred ran around, searching in vain for Princess Amisha rather than the Maharaja.

"Princess! PRINCESS!" he exclaimed, calling out for her. "Princess Amisha! Amisha! Amisha!"

He fell to his knees on the stone-covered ground, panting heavily as apprehension filled his heart. Unbeknownst to him, Raja Kumar Chatur was snickering quietly and in a sinister fashion as he slowly withdrew a dagger from the sheath attached to his belt, looking at the blond young man who was on his knees with hatred and pure malice. _Should I slit his throat now or when I take him with me to meet Ravi at the temple_, he asked himself, deciding on whether to kill Princess Amisha's lover. Watching as Alfred continued panting, he looked around and ran off into the growing darkness of night.


	14. Chapter 14

Still unconscious for the next hour and a half, Princess Amisha felt drowsy and uncoordinated as her eyes opened slowly to gradually reveal her surroundings. The environment looked to be illuminated by the dim light of candles, the smell was that of frankincense and myrrh burning in a brazier, but what intrigued her most was what she was put to lay on. She looked down, and noticed that it was a bier her body was resting on. _Odd_, she thought, _am I dead? A bier is where you place a dead body. I suppose I am dead_.

Sitting up, she looked down and also saw that a few diamonds were missing from her clothing and her wrists were confined in cuffs, which were connected by a thick chain. Princess Amisha's fear grew, trying to pull them apart, but to no avail. Then, she began crying for help.

"Why am I in chains?!" she shouted in a heavy panic. "HELP! Somebody release me from my confines! Explain to me why I am locked in chains!"

Within a few moments, the princess heard a shutter open and close, and through the small opening she saw two familiar faces, making her wonder who locked her in the room lying on the bier with her wrists in iron cuffs. As the door opened, she looked in horror as she saw Ravi and another unfamiliar young man with none other than Raja Kumar Chatur, whose odious, fiery black eyes looked demonic as he stared at the frightened princess.

The raja was dressed in an unusual fashion—he was clad in a velvet black robe, boots instead of sandals that had his pants tucked into them, a strange silver medallion with a flaming red garnet set into it, and an odd, black and red jeweled headdress. Princess Amisha looked at him with trepidation; she couldn't bear to say any words, but how else would she know what was going on?

"Good evening, Your Highness," the raja said, staring at her with pure odium. She blinked nervously and redundantly, saying her first words to the raja in hours.

"What is going on?" she questioned, holding up her chained wrists. "Why am I in chains, raja?" He approached her, which intimidated her to the point where she made him stop by getting on her knees in front of him and beginning to cry, scared for her fate.

"Have I displeased you?" she said in a cracking voice as her eyes filled with tears, groveling at his feet like a slave begging from freedom. _Oh no_, she thought, _maybe he heard Alfred and I during our night together. I have displeased him. Oh my_! Waiting for a simple answer killed her, for the moment of silence seemed continuous.

"No," he said. The princess gasped with relief, but still had no clue why she was chained at the wrist. "A prophesy is yet to be fulfilled."

"Prophesy?' she asked, looking up at him with her teary blue eyes. "What are you talking about, raja?"

Snickering sinisterly, he looked down at her as he circled her slowly, speaking while doing so. The princess had yet to know what was really going on, but the answer would soon shock her to oblivion.

"Rajkumari Amisha Mani, daughter of one of the greatest, revered rulers of the East," Raja Kumar Chatur said in a creepy monotone. "You have been sought after by royal bachelors since you were very young. Sultans or their sons have wanted you to be their wife, as did sheiks and other rajas here in India. However, only one prevailed so far, and it was I. It had been my greatest achievement since inheriting leadership of _Kālē Tārā Rakta_." Princess Amisha looked up at him with fear in her intense blue eyes—he was priest, which she approved of because he was a holy man, but she had never heard of such a religious organization because it was so underground and did not fit traditional Hindu beliefs. She said nothing, but let him speak once more.

"All your life, you have been pampered and spoiled by both your father and the many servants you have in the palace at Delhi. You would spend countless hours in play with your cousins and the servant girls who had reared you from the time your mother…died," he said. "When you were twelve or thirteen, a reputable raja from Bombay wanted you to be the wife of his son, but did your father approve? No, he didn't, all because he was more than willing to spoil you for the rest of your teenage years with fine clothing and jeweled adornments. He never discussed marriage with you, or how important it was for you to marry into a well-off family. I found it very pathetic, Your Highness."

"How does this have anything at all to do with the fact that I am bound in chains, raja?" Princess Amisha questioned, getting angry with his riddle speak. "Stop telling the story of my life and release me! Now!"

"I cannot do that, Your Highness," Raja Kumar Chatur said with a sound of pity.

"Why! Tell me why right this instant!" the princess demanded.

"Hmm, Your Highness, you should have been taught not to speak out of turn with your future husband," he said.

"I am serious, raja. Tell me why I am bound. I demand an explanation!" she said, calming down to be more assertive. Raja Kumar Chatur began pacing around her again, looking down at her long, raven-black curling hair.

"Amisha Mani. It means 'beautiful jewel' in Sanskrit," the raja said. "It fits our purpose well, and my grandfather's prophesy will soon be fulfilled."

"Tell me what prophesy," the princess commanded, her voice cracking as though she were going to cry again.

"My grandfather, Raja Jagadhish Samdarshi, foretold in the year 1867 that the time to sacrifice a beautiful woman of a certain description to Black Tara would be close to now," Raja Kumar Chatur said. The princess was speechless with her heart in her throat—what was he implying?

"_Sacrifice_?" she wondered with fear in her breathy tone of voice.

"Yes, Your Highness," the raja said, crouching down to meet her at eye level on the floor. With one his large, dark hands, he cupped her delicate face, looking into her eyes. Her lips trembled with fear, scared of his intentions.

"Just what my grandfather predicted," he whispered. "Hair black as the night, eyes blue as the ocean, skin white as alabaster, and a delicate, fair face. You are just what he was searching for. You are a divine woman, rajkumari."

"I don't understand, raja. You want to kill me for your patron god?" Princess Amisha wondered, looking at him as tears began streaming down her face. As she began to cry, the raja looked down at her, his patience wearing thin.

"Stop your tears!" he shouted, gripping her face tighter in his large hand. "I do not think you understand how special you are! You are a woman in good faith, aren't you? You are a devoted Hindu, rajkumari!"

"I am, by my life, raja!" she cried. "I seriously doubt the gods and goddesses would want me to die for them!"

He let her face go and he stared at her with sinister inquisition as he watched her bury her face in her hands, sobbing with fear and hopelessness. She never loved him, but she never had a strong enough intuition to tell if he was such a bad man like he had conveyed to her at that point.

"Your blood is the primal force of India, according to our beliefs. It is not the Maharaja, nor is it any other supreme ruler," the raja said, standing up on both of his feet. The princess wiped her eyes and looked up at him, realizing what her fate was as she continued to cower inside.

"If I am to die, please give me a few more days," she told him with sad reluctance. "I have one request."

"What is that, rajkumari? It must be on condition that you may not leave this temple," he told her forcefully. She sighed and looked up at him.

"Let me see Alfred one last time," she requested calmly, watching him snicker evilly afterwards with his two young men.

"Fool you are, rajkumari. He is a commoner," the raja scoffed cruelly. "It seems like he has tempted you away from me. I was to be your future husband."

"There will be no wedding? Why did you want my hand if you had no intention on marrying me?" the princess questioned, still crying.

"It is very obvious why, rajkumari," he told her. "You are the incarnation of Tara, and Her sacred blood runs through your veins. Do you realize what good your death could do for us?"

"I do not wish to die no matter what the cause is for!" the princess exclaimed. "Please! Let me see Alfred and his group of friends. Please!"

"Very well," the raja said. As soon as the princess felt some sort of relief, Raja Kumar Chatur looked over at Ravi and his other man. "Lure those bumbling fools over here. I have throats to slit."

"NO!" the princess shrieked with emotional agony as she began sobbing once again. She found herself groveling at Raja Kumar Chatur's feet once more as tears dripped like heavy rain from her blue eyes. "If I am found and rescued, I wish the worst for you! I hate you! DAMN YOU!"


	15. Chapter 15

"You mean to tell me that my daughter is missing?"

Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith had not seen the Maharaja until they arrived back at the palace later that night, but before this, they ran into Sadar, the prime minister, and told him about the horrific event of the evening. His reaction included shock and extreme worry. He was also quite frantic, knowing that the Maharaja would not be happy. Now, they were in the grand hall near the palace's entrance conversing on the subject just after Alfred first brought it to his attention.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Arthur said. "Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith here claim to have seen the capture."

"Why did you not stop them?" the Maharaja asked with frustration.

"By the time we got to the scene, she was in a thick, long bag big enough to fit a body. We couldn't stop her captors from taking her," Mr. Smith said.

"I even found these at the scene," Mr. Winston said, pulling the few diamonds he had retrieved as evidence for her disappearance. "We thought these might have been hers because she had a ton of diamonds sewn on her clothes tonight."

The Maharaja approached the older Englishman and looked down at the small diamonds sparkling as they lie stationary on his open palm. He took them and began looking at them, his heart filling with desperation and worry.

"These…oh my!" the Maharaja said, his voice full of grief as he rubbed his eyes, possibly to prevent tears from falling. "Amisha! No!" Sadar, who had been standing with them, approached the ruler to try consoling him.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty," he said with pity. Once the Maharaja calmed himself down, he looked Sadar straight in the eyes and began speaking.

"Mr. Chowdry," he began in a strained-sounding voice. "Send search parties immediately." His tone was forceful and determined. "I want my daughter found _immediately_. All I pray is that she be alive and safe."

"As do I, Your Majesty," Sadar said. Suddenly, Alfred, whose face was solemn and grave, moved forward and had his input which ended up shocking the Maharaja.

"Your Majesty," he began. "Why don't you just send us out to find her and bring her back?"

"No. Do not prove heroism when it isn't present, young man," the Maharaja said, his dark eyes turning to the blond American. "Perhaps you may be able to, but it would be too much work for five young men. You are unarmed, unprepared for the challenges. With all due respect, I need my soldiers to find her."

Alfred looked at him—the Maharaja's voice of reason rang true. He always viewed himself as a hero just because he idolized comic book characters, but how would he play the hero in a situation like this? What would it cost him just to save the one he loved so dearly? He sighed and looked back at Francis, Arthur, Ivan and Matthew, and then back at the Maharaja, whose face still had a distressing look on it. The five went aside to have their own side conversation.

"What are we going to do?" Ivan asked with concern. "We should save her no matter what."

"I know. We should. As a group," Alfred said with fiery-mad enthusiasm.

"Keep your voice down!" Arthur hissed cynically. "The Maharaja might hear you!"

"Let him!" Alfred responded. "I'll be damned if someone hurts Princess Amisha." The hall fell silent, but Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith broke it with their thick English accents.

"I haven't seen the Raja of Calcutta in hours," Mr. Winston said.

"Yeah, where is he, Your Majesty?" Mr. Smith questioned. The Maharaja gasped, looking at the two Englishmen as he remembered that he left the festivities.

"My, I am unsure," the royal said. "He left just before the festivities ended, if I remember correctly."

"He left?!" Arthur exclaimed. "Wouldn't he be concerned that his fiancée is missing?"

"Yes, I would be," a voice called out.

The voice and approaching presence of Raja Kumar Chatur intimidated the men so much that the great hall was struck silent. He had just arrived to the palace at Delhi after leaving his temple of _Kālē Tārā Rakta_, where Princess Amisha was confined to solitude before her "sacred" death. His fiery, evil black eyes looked at everyone, but when he stopped to look at the Maharaja, he instantly knew he was upset.

"What is going on here?" the raja asked, approaching the Maharaja casually. The royal looked at the raja and saw his expressionless, casual face. He raised one of his bushy eyebrows at him, waiting for his answer.

"She was taken and we do not know who it was!" the Maharaja exclaimed with worry, looking at the raja. _He's such a fool_, he thought sinisterly as he stared at him blankly, _he should be proud to have a goddess' incarnation as a daughter_.

"Really?" the raja wondered, looking at him withy invisible fire in his eyes. "When did that happen?"

Both Arthur and Alfred were not blind to see the suspicion in his voice—they knew that Raja Kumar Chatur was hiding something, but they didn't know exactly what it was. The two young men looked at each other and speculated in a seemingly telepathic way—had the raja been involved in her disappearance? Their mutual speculation continued as the minutes passed.

"It happened well over an hour ago, Your Highness," Sadar told him. The raja looked at him and bit his lower lip, starting at him. _Wonderful_, he thought.

"What happened? Did any of you by chance witness her…capture?" he asked, pausing to find the right word to say in order to prevent suspicion from anyone.

Ivan, Francis and Matthew picked up on his strange tone of voice as well; Alfred and Arthur looked at him strangely, but then also noticed that their three other friends were suspicious. The two English archaeologists, Mr. Smith and Mr. Winston, Sadar, and the Maharaja were the only ones blind enough to have no misgivings about Raja Kumar Chatur. Of course, the Maharaja had known him for so long and trust had been built between them during their years of knowing each other, also adding to his lack of doubts. _Capture_, Arthur thought with many misgivings, _could he have taken her_?

"No, but we found these, Your Highness," Mr. Winston said, showing the diamonds to the raja. He stared at them, then looked up at the two older gentlemen, speculating as he approached them and began circling them as he did Princess Amisha some time before.

"Hmm," he began conspiratorially. "If any of you…_gentlemen_ find my betrothed, let me know."

He walked away without saying anything else, but the Maharaja wondered why he was in such a rush to leave. Walking toward the raja with his portly self, he tapped him on the shoulder and looked at him curiously.

"Are you not concerned about the rajkumari?" he questioned. The raja nodded.

"Yes, in fact I might send search parties out for her," the raja responded.

"But_ I_ am doing that, Your Highness," the Maharaja said. "When did you last see her?"

"She was playing with little ones near the city square," Raja Kumar Chatur said.

"I am aware of that, raja! I mean did you see her anytime _after _that?" the Maharaja asked desperately, trying to get a straight answer from him. Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Smith, and Mr. Winston all looked at him as well, but the younger men knew he was plotting something—if not that, what _was_ he doing? Why was he acting so casually and nonchalantly? Now Alfred could see why nonchalant behavior looked bad for somebody, especially if they had done something wrong. Remembering the words of his professor, he continued looking at him conspiratorially.

"No, I cannot recall another time," he said without expression, looking at everybody one more time before leaving the palace. Alfred and Arthur's suspicions grew, and they looked at the Maharaja.

"Your Majesty, something is up with the raja," Alfred said.

"Yes, he seems…well, doubtful," Arthur added. The Maharaja, growing frustrated with the fact that his daughter was missing and that two of the men were accusing Raja Kumar Chatur, a man he trusted so much that there would never be any doubt coming from the ruler.

"No! Please! Do not accuse the raja!" the Maharaja said forcefully. "He is betrothed to her and chose her to be his wife! Why would he do such a thing? It's impossible!"

"We are not accusing the raja, Your Majesty," Arthur said, raising his hand up to cease the tension in the capacious, elaborately-built hall. "We don't know who took your daughter, but we hope and pray that he or she gets found and imprisoned immediately. All we suspected was the strange tone in his voice. It made us suspicious."

"_Humph_," the Maharaja grunted with a glare as his threw his hand in the air. "The Raja of Calcutta is a very good man, gentlemen. I know that the match made between him and my daughter is ideal. Why on Earth would he just take her like that, let alone even plot something similar to taking her? It is simply impossible!"

"Nothing is impossible," Francis said with an exaggerated shrug. "We know that raja is no good! Look into his eyes the next time you see him!"

"Enough! I do not want to hear any _more_ accusations against Raja Kumar. Understood?" the Maharaja said, blocking out what Francis was telling him. The men all agreed in silence as the Maharaja ordered a few servants come and help him prepare for bed. All of the men got together and huddled, whispering and sharing thoughts about the situation.

"Man, that raja is giving me the creeps," Alfred said with worry. "Do you think…well, maybe…that he may have hired someone to kidnap the princess?"

"No, don't speak nonsense!" Mr. Winston protested harshly. "The raja wouldn't have wanted her hand if he intended on kidnapping her, let alone hiring someone to do the dirty work for him!"

"I agree with Winston," Mr. Smith said. "It simply doesn't make sense."

"But why was the raja gone after her kidnapping?" Arthur asked argumentatively.

"Perhaps he was in a different part of the city?" Mr. Winston wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"I wish the king would just let us be the ones to save her," Alfred said, looking at everyone. "It may be dangerous, but I bet it would be worth it."


	16. Chapter 16

Princess Amisha eventually fell asleep in the dead of night within the room, and the bier was all she had to sleep on. She looked as though she were dead in her slumber, her clear, smooth white skin illuminated by the dim candlelit as sweet-smelling smoke burned around her. Her hands were clasped on top of the middle of her torso as she slept soundly. Little did she know that several of the raja's priests, including Raja Kumar Chatur himself, snuck into the room and began muttering silent, whispered prayers near her sleeping body on the bier.

"Leave," the raja ordered his priests as soon as their moment of silent prayer was over.

As they left the dim, candlelit room, Raja Kumar Chatur walked slowly to the bier she was sleeping on, crouching down to admire her beauty. Even as she slept, she had the beauty of a thousand jewels; her eyes were closed to let her full, natural eyelashes be seen, her lips had a lovely natural pink shade to them, and her skin, so white and delicate-looking, prompted him to take his dagger from the sheath on his belt. Once the silver, shining blade came out, he lightly treaded it from her temple down to her jawline, taking it away to speak.

"A beauty you are, rajkumari," he whispered silently. "You are so beautiful. It is a shame that your moon white skin will be stained with your own blood."

Then, he took one of her hands off the middle of her torso, gently pulling it closer to him so he could look at the insides of her wrists. That was an even whiter part of her body, her blue veins showing through as if her skin were translucent. He smirked devilishly down at the white flesh, treading his dagger on her skin light enough so that he didn't cut her.

"Your blood is the primal force of India," the raja said, looking up once more at her sleeping face. "With every drop we drink, we will all be immortal. Drinking the essence of a goddess is the best spiritual benediction man can ever experience." Still, the princess did not stir from her sleep, so the raja kept going on about her as a sacrifice. He placed his hand over her bosom, feeling her heart beat calmly underneath layers of flesh and rib. He sighed, getting a high off the sensation of her sacred heartbeat.

"This, however," he said in the same sadistic tone of voice, "is what my grandfather wanted all those years ago. This here is the true jewel of Delhi we have been searching for."

Suddenly, Princess Amisha's eyes opened, and in a flash, she let out a scream, forcing his hand off her chest. She breathed heavily, noticing his dagger was out, and tears began to stream down her face with intense fear.

"Do not _ever_ put your hands on me again!" she shouted defensively, suddenly paying no mind to the sharp knife in his hand. The raja stood up, and once the princess sat up in her place, he took a seat next to her legs, which rested on the bier as the princess looked at him analytically with her intense blue eyes.

"I cannot do that, divine one," he said, looking down at his blade. "I am the only one in my priestly position to…release Black Tara out of you." The princess shook her head, looking up at him.

"No," she whined. "Why is it me?"

"You have been chosen for a special reason," Raja Kumar Chatur stated plainly. "You are Black Tara's incarnation!"

"How do you even know? It could be some common woman you see on the streets!" Princess Amisha protested rationally. He shook his head, their eyes meeting.

"No, rajkumari. No one is like you," he said with extreme doubt. "My grandfather predicted that the most beautiful woman in all of India would be sacrificed to Black Tara and be worshipped as a deity in my temple."

"If my father knew what and who you _really_ were," Princess Amisha sighed. "He would put you to death for sure." He sighed, looking down with his bushy eyebrows raised before looking over to reach for her hand. Upon realizing that her delicate white hand was in the clutch of his large, dark mitt, she pulled away out of suspicion of his true intentions.

"I must show you something," the raja said, looking at her persuasively.

"No!" the princess exclaimed, moving away from him as he stood up to extend his hand to her.

"You don't trust me, do you?" he wondered with an eyebrow raised.

"Quite frankly, I do not, Raja Kumar," the princess said, staring up at him with her eyes full of both curiosity and fear.

"You are not being killed at any given time, rajkumari. You will die in a ceremony within three days. The moon will be new in three days, and that is the perfect time," he said. Suddenly, her nerves calmed down, and, ignoring her inhibitions and inner sense of right and wrong, she slowly put her hand into that of the raja's and stood up slowly, looking into his fiery dark eyes.

"Yes, rajkumari. Good girl," he said with a sly smile, taking her out of the room and down a hallway decorated with a floor made of sandstone tiles and sunshine yellow stucco on the walls. Her hair jewels and ankle bells made small sounds as she walked with her hand held by the raja, who led her to a small room. He struck a match and lit a candle that somehow brightened the whole room. The princess gasped, and in front of her was a tall object covered with black silk; in a single move, Raja Kumar Chatur took it off with such force that the delicate fabric blew wind everywhere. The princess gasped in shock at the sight of her reflection in a mirror, but it was no ordinary mirror—it depicted her as a multiple-limbed Hindu goddess.

"_Ahh_!" she cried. "I am…a…goddess."

Her nerves calmed once she absorbed the image of herself as a divine being. Her skin was pearl white and had a particular shine to it, her hair was still the same raven black color, if not more brilliant, and her eyes, blue as they were, sparkled like sapphires in her fantastical reflection in the mystical mirror. She had four arms instead of two, but had two legs, and in her hands were a lotus, a gold coin, a key, and a small, handheld mirror. She wore beautiful, much more glamorous clothing than she did as a human, and her face was just as calm and delicate as it was in her mortal form. She moved closer to her reflection and placed her hand against her reflection, smiling as one of the goddess' hands met with her real one. The raja stared at the sight, feeling like she was satisfied, but really, she wasn't—she knew that her beliefs did not require someone to die for the sake of one minority Hindu temple.

"Does it peak your interest to see what you will look like after death, Your Highness?" he asked. She looked back, taking her hand off the reflective surface.

"Black Tara is…well, black. Why am I white in my goddess form, raja?" she asked calmly.

"Even the purest souls still have a black part in them," he explained in brief. "It is a matter of balance, of which I am sure you are familiar."

"Yes, I am familiar. It just…well… Black Tara has _black_ skin," Princess Amisha contradicted.

"And even though you are a white goddess, Black Tara's blood flows through your veins, Your Highness," Raja Kumar said, looking at his own god-like reflection in the mirror.

The sight of Raja Kumar Chatur as a god scared the princess to the point where she had nervous chills running down her spine, noticing that his eyes were red as fire, his skin bluer than her eyes, and he looked as angry as Kali was. He had crimson blood drops dripping from his mouth, in which fangs were instead of teeth, and he was dressed in a pure black ensemble. He had six arms, four of which held skulls or bloody swords. Noticing that their divine forms reflected their unique natures, Princess Amisha knew he was evil to the core—then she thought of Alfred. What would he look like as a Hindu god? Would he have blond or black hair? Would he be depicted positively?

"You are the most beautiful woman in India," the raja said, peering over her neck to inhale her sweet jasmine and lavender scent. "After you are sacrificed, you will become one of the gods. You will be worshipped by future generations of our temple."

Meanwhile, Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Smith and Mr. Winston were walking through the city streets of Delhi, hoping to find clues connected to Princess Amisha's mysterious kidnapping. No one had any idea what really happened except for the two older Englishmen, who had witnessed only part of the incident and even managed to retrieve a few diamonds left behind.

"Do you think the raja is in town right now?" Matthew asked. "I'm a bit nervous."

"Dude, don't be nervous. I'd like to just go and save her, wherever she is," Alfred said.

"He scares me," his friend said with apprehension.

"He's so ugly!" Francis ridiculed, fluffing his hair casually. "All the beauty in the world and his ugliness…eh! _Je detest_!"

"Do you still have the diamonds you found, Mr. Winston?" Arthur asked, looking as he reached into his pocket and pulled them out.

"Yes," he answered.

Suddenly, there was the sound of screaming women running with their children in their arms. It caught their attention quickly, and it wasn't long until they saw more than a few men in military clothing carrying swords and guns, attacking men and women relentlessly. Alfred's eyes widened and his jaw dropped in shock, as did the rest of the men he was with, at the sight of the brutal massacre taking place.

"Oh my God! What the hell is going on?" Alfred exclaimed. "Who are they?"

"They are _not_ the Maharaja's soldiers," Mr. Smith hypothesized nervously. "In fact, I have no clue who they are or what they want."

As dozens of men and women were being killed by the strange military force, the head soldier, looked at his right-hand man and pointed toward where Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Matthew, Ivan, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith were standing.

"There they are! Get them!" he ordered in his native language. Before a few soldiers could run to get them, three of the five young men managed to run away, but due to the fact that Mr. Smith and Mr. Winston were older and less agile, and the fact that Ivan and Matthew were being tackled and locked in chains by two of the soldiers faster than they can realize, they were taken from the city streets and hustled into a small, drivable cart which drove off out of the city.

"Ivan!" Arthur shouted.

"Matthew! No!" Alfred shouted, extending his hand out to the distant cart. He could still hear the men screaming out for someone to help them, or for their captors to release them. Then, Alfred started to run, but at an instant he was held back by Arthur.

"We have to save them!" the American suggested, frustrated and angry that they were taken to God knows where.

"Are you crazy, wanker?" Arthur exclaimed, his green eyes full of both worry and detestation. "We could be killed!"

"I don't want to go there! I'm too gorgeous—"

"SHUT UP, FRANCIS!" Arthur said, cutting the Frenchman off.

"I'm so tired of your idiocy, Arthur! _You_ shut up!" Francis said meanly, shoving Arthur away from he and Alfred.

That was the final straw; Arthur couldn't take it anymore—at an instant, he grabbed the front of Francis' shirt and drove his back against a wooden pillar near a vending stall and he started to punch him senselessly. The Frenchman grabbed the front of Arthur's shirt in the same fashion, and soon began attacking him. Then, they were shaking each other forward and backward as if they were going to kill each other. Alfred, witnessing their quarrel and several people watching or running away in fear, went between them and pulled them apart with all of his strength. Both of the quarrelling men stared at him, in awe of his excessive strength and how he looked so angry with them both.

"Both of you stop it right now! You can't keep fighting like this! You could get in trouble for this!" he hissed. "It ends now!"

"It only ends if _he_ stops!" Arthur detested, raising a fist.

"You stop first!" Francis snapped, flinching upon seeing Arthur's enclosed fist coming toward him. Alfred grabbed his fist and pushed it away from the Frenchman, and yet again, Arthur's face was full of shock.

"Damn it! You are so strong! You're not even muscular!" the Brit remarked.

"You'd be surprised," Alfred said, calming himself down.

The Brit and the Frenchman looked at each other, and once Alfred sensed that they were calmed down, he let them go. They all looked at each other, but then the American spoke.

"I couldn't care any less about what the Maharaja says about sending his military to find Princess Amisha," he said with an unusually stern voice. "We are saving the woman I love, as well as Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith. Let's discreetly follow the tracks of that car and see where it leads us."

Noticing the distinct tire marks left on the narrow road, the other two men agreed, nodding to each other as they followed the path without being noticed._ I'm coming, my princess_, Alfred thought, _you will be safe and unharmed_.


	17. Chapter 17

"Let me go, you imbecile!" Mr. Winston shouted loudly as the soldiers brought him, Mr. Smith, Ivan, and Matthew, all bound in chains, down a flight of steep stairs to the underground prison in the temple_Kālē Tārā Rakta_. It was made entirely of stone—stone walls and floors with iron gates intersecting what would be large, wide doorways. In each cell, the floor was covered in straw, and in several of them, wild animals were kept. Two orange and black striped tigers growled and roared at the men, causing them to be further apprehended by their surroundings.

"Why is it that we have been taken? Have done something wrong?" Ivan asked.

"The raja will see you soon. Do not say a word," a soldier said sternly, pushing them into the empty cell and locking them up shortly before walking away. Mr. Winston ran to the bars keeping them away from the outside world and reached out in vain, pleading for release.

"Let me out! I'm warning you! You think you can just lock us up for no apparent reason!" he shouted roughly. "YOU CAN'T!"

"Please, Lewbert! Stop pleading! It is futile!" Mr. Smith said, patting his back to make him cease his action. With his breath heavy and full of anger, Mr. Winston sat down on the straw with the other men until a strangely-clad man came with his soldiers. Matthew and Ivan were the first to notice that it was Raja Kumar Chatur when the door unlocked.

"Why have you taken us?" Ivan asked nervously. "Have we done something wrong?"

"Not yet," the raja said cruelly. "It seems my men have captured only two of the young men. None of you are Alfred."

"Why do you want Alfred?" Matthew asked, scared by what the raja was wearing.

At an instant, the raja's attention was caught by the shy, blond young man. He walked over slowly, looking down at him before rapping him in the mouth with a thick strip of leather. The impact was so hard that Matthew's face jerked to one side, but because he was in iron cuffs linked with chains, he could only rub his face to notice that a small bit of blood had smeared on his palm.

"What was that for?" he questioned.

"You are all in here so you are not tempted to tell the authorities!" the raja shouted relentlessly, ignoring Matthew's question.

"You are so lucky the Maharaja doesn't see any faults with you," Mr. Winston said with fury. "You'd be put down like a mad dog at the pound!"

"Watch your tongue, sir," the raja sneered slowly.

"Watch _yours_! You have no right to lock us up! What is your purpose?" Mr. Winston snarled.

"I already stated it. As for you entering our temple, I welcome you," the raja said, bowing his head. "Please feel welcome."

"We don't feel welcome in here," Ivan contradicted. "We feel like prisoners."

"Exactly," the raja said. "Welcome to temple _Kālē Tārā Rakta_." Mr. Smith looked at him upon hearing him say the familiar name he had heard before.

"Temple? We're in a _temple_?" he questioned empathically. "Black Tara's Blood? The temple of Black Tara's Blood?"

"Yes, it's a wonder you understand Hindi, sir," Raja Kumar Chatur said snobbily. "The blood of Black Tara has already been acquired—we just need to release it from it host."

"We researched and thought you wanted a jewel!" Mr. Smith asked. The raja started laughing, sparked by his inner insanity as he became more frantic with his dark, wry humor.

"We already have it, you idiot!" he shouted, delighted by his accomplishment. "The Rajkumari Amisha Mani has been the holder of the jewel since she was a baby! It was predicted by the temple's founder, my grandfather! Her heart is the jewel! It contains the sacred blood of Black Tara! It is the source of youth, and he who drinks it will become immortal!"

"EEWW!" the men exclaimed with extreme disgust and repulsion.

"You mean…you are…going to…EW!" Matthew exclaimed, gagging excessively to the point where he nearly vomited all over the straw-covered floor.

The raja continued laughing insanely as he left the cell, ordering one of his men to lock the gate shortly before walking away. Ivan looked through the bars as they walked up the steep stairs, and sighed.

"What are we going to do?" he wondered. "They have the key."

"Of course, you wanker!" Mr. Winston said with his fiery temper still burning hot inside of him.

"I hope Alfred and the other two are coming soon," Matthew said. "I hope they don't take _too_ long to get here."

In fact, it did take a long time for Alfred, Arthur and Francis to trace the tire marks, but once it got really dark outside, they decided to set up camp in a forest nearby. They set up the campfire close to the road, and they all discussed what their plan was for the following day.

"I say we continue to follow the tire marks until we reach our destination!" Alfred said with enthusiasm.

"Alfred, we don't even know where we are going. I bet trying to find where the princess and our new friends are being held is like trying to find a needle in a haystack," the Brit said, gazing into the fire.

"It's true," Francis added. "For once, I am agreeing with Arthur."

"That's good to hear, boys," Alfred said with apprehension in his smile of approval.

Alfred gazed into the fire, thinking of Princess Amisha. She was his ideal woman, and though she was royalty and he was not permitted to marry her, the two still loved each other dearly. It had been a few days, and even still, their love was like a fortress—not even an insane raja she was arranged to marry would break them apart. He sighed, looking up at the dark, star-studded sky to see a shooting star ride over him, Francis and Arthur. He closed his eyes, secretly wishing that his one love be safe, unharmed, and secure.

It cheered Alfred up whenever he pictured the beautiful princess; her white skin, her long, raven-black curling hair, and her beautiful, intense blue eyes along with her slender hourglass frame. Remembering the night they had shared together, he smiled and sighed, catching the attention of Arthur and Francis.

"What?" the Brit asked.

"He's thinking of his lady love," Francis said, touching Alfred's cheek with his finger. He rolled his eyes and looked up at the sky, starting to sing a song entirely out of tune, but it was conveyed to be a love song:

_"Have I told you lately that I love you  
Have I told you there's no one else above you  
Fill my heart with gladness  
Take away all my sadness  
Ease my troubles that's what you do  
There's a love that's divine  
And it's yours and it's mine like the sun  
And at the end of the day  
We should give thanks and pray  
To the one, to the one"_

"I love that song," Francis said with an enamored sigh. "_Trés magnifique_!"

"You love the princess, don't you, Alfred? I hope you realize that she is unattainable," Arthur said, wondering about his feelings. Alfred sighed, looking down at his hands before looking at the Brit and the Frenchman.

"Yeah, I won't lie. She and I are in love with each other," he admitted.

"Have you made_ l'amour_?" Francis asked, cooing with a smile just before laughing. "Hon-hon-hon!"

"I'm not answering," Alfred said.

"Aw, you did! You are going to be in so much trouble!" Francis said.

"Hush up, you!" Arthur exclaimed to the Frenchman.

"No,_ you_ shut up!" the Frenchman retorted.

"Will you two stop it? I thought we agreed on you two keeping the peace!" Alfred wondered demandingly. The two men looked at each other and scoffed, lying down on the ground near the fire.

"Anyways, I'm beat," Alfred said. "Good night, guys!"

"_Bonsoir_!" Francis said, blowing the usual kiss at him as he rested his head down.

"Sweet dreams," Arthur said. As the men began sleeping, the worries seemed to take form again within them—what if something happened during their sleep? After all, it wasn't safe out in the dark like this…


	18. Chapter 18

"A revelation has been received from the spirit of Black Tara herself!"

Raja Kumar Chatur, in front of two of his priests, made his way to Princess Amisha's sacred bier room, where he ordered his man to unlock the door and open it. The princess, who had been sitting stationary on her bier with one leg crossed over the other and her elbow resting with her chin in the palm of her hand. Upon hearing the door open, the princess looked up at the raja, who was wearing his priestly ensemble, and in his facial expression was nothing but destructive fire—she did not have a good feeling about this.

"What do you want?" she asked, still full of the same kind of fear she had felt since coming there two days before.

Grinning a closed, sinister smile, Raja Kumar Chatur looked down at the princess' downtrodden appearance. The strings of jewels remained in her hair, even though it was disheveled and messy, and the sari had been removed from her head by her own doing. A few diamonds, the one Mr. Winston had picked up from the scene of her kidnapping, were missing from different parts of her clothing, and her face was weary and tired, dirty and somewhat sickly-looking. All she had been given to eat was a small bread and water meal during the nighttime, the raja believing that the more simple her meal, the better she would accept her time to perish in sacrifice. Though she had seen her supposed post-mortem image in the raja's magic mirror, Princess Amisha was still not pleased, and she wanted nothing more than for somebody to save her.

"Black Tara herself came to me from your being in my slumber," he said. She looked up at him, anticipating the outcome anxiously. "She wants to be released as soon as possible."

"I thought I was to die by the next new moon!" Princess Amisha assumed, fearful tears streaming down her face.

"No, you are to perish by the morrow," the raja ordered.

"No!" the princess protested. "At least one more—"

"NO!" the raja roared, taking her by the hair and arching her neck back forcefully, causing her to scream as his dagger's blade went against her throat. "You have had eighteen years on this Earth to live! You will spend eternity as our primary Goddess! You will be worshipped, revered, perhaps even lend us your divine power to help us get new followers to our denomination! You saw how beautiful you looked in the mirror, didn't you?! I suppose that wasn't enough! I could kill you right now!"

"NO! Don't! I'll do anything!" the princess begged, the knife drawing closer to her neck as she sobbed with fright at his violent attempt on her.

"Anything? You do realize that it is inevitable that you will die to release Black Tara's power from your being, don't you?" he wondered, calming his rage down as he heard her heavy breathing and sobbing.

Taking the knife away from her throat, he turned to face the princess, who couldn't say or do anything but look up at his below average-looking face. Invisible, demonic fires burned in his dark eyes, and the headdress he wore scared her to death just looking at him with it on his head. He instead took the dagger up to her face, causing her to whimper—was he going to kill her after caressing her with the blade? Instead, he caressed her soft, beautiful white skin with the silver, sharp part of the weapon.

"You are so beautiful," he said, smiling seductively with an evil grin. "You resemble the Maharani."

"My mother?" she said through a heavy, frightful sob.

"Maharani Darshwana Minakshi," the raja said. "You have her skin, her cheekbones, and her black, black hair. My, her death was a perfect example of life giving another life as one dies while doing so. She died in childbirth. Did you know that?"

"Yes, I am well aware of how she died, raja," Princess Amisha said. Their eyes met, and Raja Kumar Chatur looked at hers with awe and amazement.

"The Maharani was the daughter of a British ambassador who married a middle-class woman from our country," the raja revealed, taking the blade away from the intimidated princess. "Your father married for love. It was simply inexcusable and pathetic. My, I would give anything to marry for love, but I knew that my social standing would never allow such notions or ideas. Being the son of a weak Maharaja, he let his heir marry who he wanted. He was a very spoiled young man growing up. I am only a few years younger than he, and I remember when you were born. The entire palace was happy that a new member had joined the family, but they were sad because it was not an heir, a son." He scoffed rudely. "Just after your birth, the Maharani died." He sighed, remembering her in his mind. "She was a beautiful woman, much like you, but her eyes were not blue. They were the color of warm honey." He sighed again. "Every man, regardless of their social class, wanted your mother for themselves, but they all were envious that the future Maharaja had married her. It was a shame considering that the event of her death was a time when all of India mourned over their queen."

Princess Amisha stared at him inquisitively, trying to find the connection between her mother and her suffering at the temple being all alone in her sacred bier room. Inside, she was praying hard for her life to be salvaged; better yet, though it was least likely to happen, it would be so much better if the raja spared her life and let her go.

"Nevertheless, the Maharaja was happy to have a child even if it was a daughter. I remember seeing you for the first time when you were just a baby. I was a young man, and having just inherited my priesthood here at temple _Kālē Tārā Rakta_. My father had died and left me the position held by him and his father before him, and once I held you for the first time, I knew that my grandfather's prophecy would be fulfilled in the coming years. We all watched you grow in grace and beauty, and with it, your heart became the most desired in all of India. You are also very bound to your Hindu faith, another indicator that you are indeed Black Tara's blood host and incarnation."

"What will…you do with…my blood?" the princess asked nervously.

"I cannot tell you, for it would never make a difference. You will be dead by the early morning," the raja told her. "After, a ceremony initiating you into our pantheon as our primary Goddess will take place. Think of it, rajkumari—everyone wants to reach spiritual purity; you, my dear, already have. This is just a much better, honorable way of going."

The raja left the presence of the princess, ordering his men to lock the large wooden door. As it closed, she collapsed on the stone floor and began sobbing, her face buried on her knees as her warm, salty tears fell to soak different parts of her lavish, ruined skirt. _I pray somebody frees me from this madness_, she thought as she sobbed heavily.

* * *

"What the hell?" Alfred wondered as he saw a familiar drivable cart through his binoculars. "Is that the cart our friends were taken away in?"

"Let me see that!" Arthur ordered, snatching the binoculars away from him to get a closer look. "Yes, that is! Why is it parked near a Hindu temple?"

"A temple? What are they doing with them at a temple? I never knew temples had prisons!" Francis exclaimed with disbelief as he shrugged.

"Hmm, something is wrong this picture. Why the hell would they be taken here?" Alfred said. "This is so screwed up."

"There's only one way to find out, gentlemen," Arthur said conspiratorially. "We need disguises to blend in."

"How the hell—"

"_Shh_! Someone's coming!" the Brit said in a forceful whisper, cutting the Frenchman off from finishing his sentence.

They ducked behind the shrub, peering through the branches to see a few of the raja's priests walking by in a ceremonious manner. Luckily, there were only three, and one the count of three, each of the three men grabbed a priest and started beating him in the bush senselessly until they were unconscious. Then, they stripped them of their garments and placed them over their clothes. It took a bit of time to tie the turbans correctly, but when they emerged from hiding, they looked at each other. Alfred laughed hysterically at how he looked.

"I look like freak! HAHAHAHAHA!" he wailed humorously. Arthur punched his shoulder with frustration, trying to quiet him down.

"Stop it, you wanker! We'll be exposed!" he hissed.

"Sorry," the American said, looking at them. "You can't see my hair in this turban, can you?"

"No, but you are white as anything. We have to be subtle but quick with our movements so we are not caught," Arthur advised. "Where is the entrance?"

"Over there, I think," Francis said, pointing at the temple. He turned to Alfred with a curious look on his face. "Do you know any of the language they speak here?"

"Eh, no, I wish," Alfred said, sighing sadly.

"You mean to tell me you spent so much time with the princess that you didn't learn _any _of her language?" Francis asked, scolding him.

"I didn't pick it up and I don't understand her. Besides he speaks English to me," Alfred reminded him.

"_Humph_," Francis grunted.

"Let's go!" Arthur said forcefully, trying to mimic the ceremonious gait of the temple's priests.

Surprisingly, there were no guards surrounding the temple, allowing Alfred, Arthur and Francis easy, discreet access. Upon entering, they looked at their surroundings curiously, and noticed that for such a humble temple, the interior was quite lavish. There were statues of a black-skinned goddess with three eyes dancing on top of a woman's corpse being burned on a pyre. Any adornments on the naked goddess' statue were made of pure gold, and in her several hands were various things, including a bow and arrow, a bloody scimitar, and a spear. It scared Alfred to see the deity dancing over a dead woman being consumed by flames, knowing it had some type of underlying meaning.

"What the…hell?" Alfred whispered, looking up at the statue curiously. Arthur and Francis walked toward him, taking each of his arms to drag him to where they wanted to go.

"Come on! Let's go find the cells!" the Brit whispered, bringing him along only to let him go just moments later.

As the three men walked, they passed a few priests, ducking their heads to try concealing their faces. One of the temple's priests, suspicious of the light-skinned men, turned around after passing them and began muttering, and then shouting in Hindi.

"Those are not priests! Not one of them is dark like we are!" he exclaimed, pointing at them. Alfred, Arthur, and Francis grew nervous, walking even faster, but the two priests walked even faster behind them, trying to stop them. The priest noticed that they were not barefoot and had clothes on underneath their robes.

"They also have shoes. We do not wear shoes in our sacred establishment!" he pointed out, further apprehending them. "How do you know they aren't stealing the sacred jewel of Delhi?"

"We must get them!" the other priest said, running toward the three men.

In response, Alfred, Arthur, and Francis, aware that their cover was blown quicker than it ever should have been, ran away down the hall. As they ran, they tried to find some indicator of a prison, but none seemed present. They saw the steep staircase, but it didn't occur to them that it led directly to the underground cell where Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Winston, and Mr. Smith were locked up in. Once they reached another Black Tara sanctuary, the sight of Raja Kumar Chatur and two of his men froze them, stopping them in their tracks. Instantly recognizing their faces through their disguises, the raja was relieved to finally have come across Alfred, the man he hated most out of the men.

"These men! We caught them sneaking in wearing our robes!" the priest said.

"Hmm, trying to save the rajkumari, are you?" the raja said, looking down into Alfred's eyes. He then ordered his men to take them out of his sight. "Take them away, but leave Alfred to me." He snickered as Arthur and Francis tried fighting the raja's men, but they pulled out their swords, prompting them to obey in order for their lives to be spared.

Knowing he was in big trouble even though he didn't want to be and never planned on it, Alfred looked at the raja as he withdrew his dagger, pointing the tip at the American's throat. Alfred gulped. _Oh shit_, he thought,_ I'm going to my grave now. I swear to God, I'll kill him if he touches my princess_.

"If I were you, I would cooperate or your throat will be sliced in two," the raja said, staring him coldly in the face as he led him down the hallway past the bier room where the princess was being held. Alfred began shouting as he was led and intimidated by the raja down the hallway; "Amisha! I _will_ find you! I will save you from this brutal jerk trying to threaten me at knifepoint! Hang in there! I love you!"


	19. Chapter 19

_Clack!_

_Click!_

_Clank!_

"I have warned you, Mr. Jones!" the raja shouted, his men fastening iron cuffs around Alfred's neck, wrists and ankles. Though the young man tried fighting his way out of their strong grasps, he knew that he would have his throat slit if he showed any kind of resistance. After all, Raja Kumar Chatur was one of the most intimidating people he had ever laid eyes upon—what was he to do?

"You won't get away with—"

"And what are _you_ going to do about it?!" the raja roared, turning to face him as soon as he was all locked up. "You are chained to the wall, you moronic fiend! Your neck is fastened, too! Surely, your neck will snap if you try getting out of it without a key!" He snickered evilly, looking at him as his men left. Alfred just looked at him, and watched him pull his dagger back into view again, his lower lip trembling slightly as his apprehension grew.

"My instincts were right—you _do_ love my bride. I knew it ever since you first laid eyes on her," he said, his rage firing up again. "But you can't have her! You are not Indian, nor are you a raja or a sultan! You are just another arrogant, foul-mouthed, milk-white American!"

"Why is race such a big problem?! Dude, calm yourself!" Alfred said haughtily. "You don't know who you're talking to!"

"Yes, I do. It is someone whose throat I am going to slit in a few seconds if he doesn't shut his mouth," Raja Kumar Chatur said, looking at him with his bushy black eyebrows brought together by a look of hatred. "I could have killed you just now, but I suppose torturing you will be much more delightful."

"Torture?" Alfred asked.

"Yes. Either it will be a bunch of burgers staring you in the face, or the images of the rajkumari's smooth white skin being stained by her own blood," the raja said. Alfred's blue eyes widened, his heart racing faster out of fear for his love's life—was he going to tell him why he has taken the princess?

"What are you going to do to her?" Alfred asked with anger growing in his voice, moving around in his noisy, iron confines. "You took her, didn't you?!"

"Hmm, I have found your weakness, Mr. Jones. Allow me to first explain why the Rajkumari Amisha Mani is so special to my temple," Raja Kumar Chatur said, stroking the beard on his chin conspiratorially. "I did have a few of my priests lure her away from the city during our engagement celebration in Delhi, and I also organized the riot in Delhi with soldiers from Calcutta just so I could capture you all and put you away until the sacrifice is over."

"Why would you?" Alfred asked with disbelief. "_Sacrifice_? What are you doing with the princess?!"

"I sense your anger is heating up, so I guess I should explain what will happen, and what already has," the raja said. "Picture it—you have seen the physical grandeur of the rajkumari in person. Her beauty is known throughout the East, and some in India consider her to be a goddess. Do you agree with me?" Alfred's face was blank, but he nodded slowly, staring at him with angry blue eyes.

"To my temple and followers, the rajkumari is the incarnation of Black Tara," the raja began. Recalling what Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith were talking about during their first meeting at breakfast during their time at the palace, his eyes widened and he gasped.

"Black Tara? You guys were looking for a jewel, weren't you?" Alfred assumed. "You guys needed help, didn't you? Mr. Winston and—"

"They were mislead by their research, Mr. Jones. We already acquired our jewel, and it holds the essence of youth and immortality. That, my friend, is her heart," the raja cackled evilly, putting on an evil, bearded grin as Alfred's face turns to a combination of fury and fear.

"You can't! I won't let you!" Alfred shouted, pulling his wrists away from the walls to make the clattering noise from the chains.

"Save your breath, villain!" Raja Kumar Chatur said, cutting him off right after. "In order to release Black Tara from her mortal form, we must sacrifice the rajkumari, her incarnation, and fulfill the prophesy my grandfather predicted many years ago. He predicted that a beautiful woman of her appearance and devotion to faith would perish just to release the divine spirit and gives to us her blood, which alone nourishes the youth of he who drinks it."

"You're going to…_what_?! Alfred wondered in shock, his jaw dropping as he immediately began to feel sick to his stomach.

"Yes, Mr. Jones. Her wrists will be slit first. Ah, those sweet, slender wrists will be the first of her sacred bloodshed," the raja said, going off into a daze of sadistic pleasure. "Then will come her throat, and I will be the first to drink directly from the source. Of course, a bowl is needed to catch any extra blood that comes out so I can give some to my followers. After all, her blood makes a man immortal, especially me. I will not look a day over thirty-nine once I drink from it. That isn't all, though—after bleeding her dry, her heart will be carved from her corpse, and from it, the remainder of her blood will be placed in my keeping for use in our temple." He became more engrossed in the ceremoniously vicious fantasy. "The flames will consume her remains on a bier, and the spirit of Black Tara will finally emerge in the form of raging flames from our central fire."

As he heard the process of killing Princess Amisha, Alfred's teeth gritted so hard he felt pain in his gums. His cheeks turned redder than a tomato with extreme anger toward the raja. How dare he torture him with the image of the princess' throat and wrists being slit with heart being cut out afterwards for a barbaric reason? In a fit of rage, Alfred let out his anger despite the risk of him being killed by the raja's dagger.

"YOU WILL_ NOT_ HURT HER! I WILL _NOT_ ALLOW IT! YOU SERIOUSLY THINK DRINKING THE BLOOD OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN LIKE PRINCESS AMISHA WILL MAKE YOU LIVE FOREVER!? I'M TELLING YOU, MAN, EVERYBODY DIES AT SOME POINT! SOME SACRED ESSENSE ISN'T GOING TO HELP YOU REIGN OVER YOUR FOLLOWERS AND TREAT THEM LIKE CATTLE, YOU SICK FUCK!"

At an instant, Raja Kumar Chatur, still holding his dagger, swiftly slashed Alfred's clothed chest, causing him to scream in agony. Luckily, his clothing saved him from being cut so deep he'd bleed to death, and but he kept gasping, gulping as the raja held the bloodied dagger to his throat like he had earlier.

"Say another word, and you will die in chains!" the raja shrieked, poking his throat with the point of the blade shortly before walking away, laughing loudly as he cackled his way out of the cell.

* * *

"I am no henna artist, but this mendhi looks good on you," Ravi said, painting Princess Amisha's fingertips with the reddish-brown plant material.

Many hours later, the raja announced that the princess be woken up by 3:00 AM to prepare her for the ritual in which she was fated to die. Upon receiving the news from the raja himself, the princess, though she was panicking inside, knew that there was no way out and knew she wasn't going to be saved. The young woman was prepared by taking a bath, straightening her hair, and giving her new clothes to wear.

Her new ensemble was much simpler than anything she wore in her daily life as a princess; it was all black, consisting of a short, midriff-bearing top and a full ebony skirt, but it did not have a sari with it. The idea that her last outfit had no sari made her feel naked—she always wore one, be it over her head or diagonally over her torso, and the fact that her cleavage showed prominently didn't help matters. The fabric making up her outfit was as black as her hair, making her skin look so white it resembled her goddess-like, post-mortem image as seen in the raja's magic mirror.

"You look absolutely beautiful," Ravi said, finishing up the henna. "I can sense Black Tara's graceful presence within you." Their eyes met, but she held back tears that were ready to come down at any given moment. After all, this was to be her death, and she knew it was not going to be easy.


	20. Chapter 20

Unbeknownst to Alfred, the ceremony involved every one of Raja Kumar Chatur's priests and soldiers from Calcutta, who had all come to worship and drink the essence of Black Tara—this gave the young man more time to break free from being chained to the wall. Right now, he had already used his seemingly superhuman strength to rip the chains fastened to the walls from his wrists and ankles, but in order to free his neck, he turned around and held the thick, noisy chain, pulling it at full force so that he fell to the straw-covered ground. The wound on his chest began to hurt again, but he looked down at the streak of blood on his shirt. He touched it, wincing as he remembered how badly it hurt when the raja slashed at him. It was agonizing, but luckily, the cut dried into a scab that wasn't life-threatening.

Alfred looked down, noticing that the cuff was still around his neck, paid no mind to it and walked over to the gate, his newly liberated hands searching for a sharp, pointy object to help him pick the lock to regain his humanly freedom. In his pocket was a pocket knife, but n the floor, he found a thin nail that was just small enough to stick into the hole and jab around to unlock it. Picking it up, he tried to look outside before slowly sticking it into the keyhole. After a few minutes of persistent moving, the cell gate opened, allowing him to free his neck from the thick iron cuff surrounding it.

Running out, he realized he was not under any supervision, nor were there priests or soldiers walking around, so it gave him more time to find the others, whose cell he had passed before being tied up and tortured by the raja himself, and release them. After running by, searching for their cells, Mr. Winston's heavy British accent became a cry for help.

"You! Mr. Jones! Help us out!" he shouted.

"Yes! I found you! We need to stop the raja right now!" Alfred said, picking their gate lock only to have it open within a matter of seconds before he began unlocking their iron cuffs.

"How did you get out? What were you chained to?" Matthew questioned as the nail wnet into his right cuff to unlock it. "Why is there blood on your shirt?"

"No time to explain! Let's go!" he said.

It took about ten minutes to free every one of his new friends, even Francis and Arthur, who were stuck in the same cell with Matthew, Ivan, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith. Once they were all free, Mr. Smith discreetly pulled out a revolver from his coat pocket, rolling the bullet chamber and clicking the back, the familiar sound catching Alfred's attention.

"A gun? How did you manage to get that in here? Do you have extras?" he asked frantically.

"I always carry two in case," Mr. Winston said, opening his tan coat to reveal two firearms attached to his suspenders. At an instant, Alfred grabbed one, checking to see if it was loaded. _I'm going to kill that raja_, he thought, _who does he think he is_?

"Good," he said calmly, his rush building up against as he prompted the rest of the men to move along quickly to make it on time to the sacrifice.

As the men ran hastily, the floor in a sanctuary parted rapidly beneath their feet, and they all fell like ragdolls a couple tens of feet deep underneath the temple. It was very dark, and once everyone hit the rocky ground, groans and gasps emanated from their mouths as everyone expressed concern for one another.

"Wow! I did _not_ see that one coming!" Alfred exclaimed. "Is everyone OK?"

"_Sacre bleu_!" Francis exclaimed. "It is filthy down here!"

"How the bloody hell will we get to the princess now?" Mr. Winston exclaimed, putting his gun in his pocket. "We're underground!"

A small beam of red light caught Arthur's eye, and it was right near the pile of rocks he had landed against. Staring at it curiously, he also heard a strange sound; one of chanting or reciting religious prayers. He looked back at the men, who fell silent, as they heard the noise as well. Frantically, Arthur and Alfred both moved rocks to get the out of the way, hoping it had some connection to their objective.

"I can hear it! Something's going on!" Arthur exclaimed, moving a boulder out of the way.

"It must be the sacrifice!" Alfred assumed. It took them fifteen minutes total to remove the rocks, but once they realized they were on solid ground and that there were people seen through the opening, they sank back a bit as they realized that they had reached their destination by the miraculous method of trap door.

Alfred, as well as the other men, looked at the inside in awe of the elaborate setting of the ritual in which Princess Amisha was to die. A large, wide fire burned fiercely, and several priests were lined up in an orderly fashion, chanting over and over again: "_OM HRIM STRIM HUM PHAT_!"A drummer struck a drum in between each repetition of the sacred words, and it was noticed that no one but Raja Kumar Chatur, in his finest ritual costume, stood with his praying hands facing the large, sacred fire burning ever so brightly in the middle of the underground lair.

"Wow," Alfred whispered inaudibly. "There's the raja who chained me to a wall."

"He _what_?" Arthur questioned.

"To a _wall_?" Matthew added.

"Yeah; my neck, my wrists and my ankles," Alfred responded in the silent whisper.

"How the bloody hell did you get out?" the Brit questioned.

"I'm really strong, Arthur, in case you haven't noticed. I just ripped myself out of the cuffs and turned to pull the chain attaching my neck out of the wall. Then I found a nail on the floor and I unlocked my neck cuff and then I unlocked the gate I like I did yours," Alfred explained.

"Break a rock, lad!" Mr. Winston commanded with a forceful whisper, handing him a small stone. Alfred took it into his palm, gripping it so tightly that it turned to granulated powder which he sprinkled on the dark-colored earth afterwards.

"Dear Lord, you're a strong lad," Mr. Winston said with awe. Suddenly, a loud voice from the lair called out in Hindi, but the men could not understand him.

"Listen here, loyal followers of temple _Kālē Tārā Rakta_! On this night, we fulfill a century-old prophesy!" The raja seemed to be yelling, trying to gain the enthusiasm of his followers as the chanting continued in the same monotone between single drum beats. "One filled with youth and everlasting life, we take into ourselves the essence of the goddess' incarnation here on Earth! We have found our jewel!"

Cheering from non-chanting followers filled the lair, the followers enthusiastic to get the chance at achieving youth and eternal life. Alfred and the men looked at each other, but it was when the raja raised his hand to order silence that they knew what he was talking about.

"Bring out the chosen one, Black Tara's incarnation!" the raja ordered in a booming, mighty voice as he gestured to a great, big closed door.

Noticing the followers direct their attention to it, two large men in ceremonial dress each held an arm of Princess Amisha, who was dressed in the black ensemble chosen for her as the door opened. Pleading for her life by screaming and sobbing, Alfred's eyes widened with deep fear to see her being dragged out against her will to be killed for an unrealistic belief. _No_, he thought, _we must stop them_!

"I can't let his happen!" Alfred whispered as the two men still handled his princess. "Let's teach them a lesson!"

"What are they going to do to her?" Mr. Smith asked with concern.

"How could someone be _that_ stupid to kill something so beautiful like the princess?" Francis whined.

"We have guns, men!" Mr. Winston said noisily, clicking the chamber to load a few more bullets into it. "They have nothing, and the followers are most likely not going to harm us."

The seven men watched in awe as the princess was taken to where the raja was, and at an instant, another man was holding a set of chains linked to an unknown source.

"Release the tigers! Bring them here!" the raja ordered in the same booming voice. The man promptly walked the roaring tigers, and once they reached the perimeter of the large fire, he threw two pieces of fish into the fire, letting the chains go as they were lured to their burning death. As they were incinerated, the tigers roared loudly and distressingly, and once their animalistic cries were no longer heard, the raja grabbed the princess, holding her close to him. As she sobbed even heavier, the raja withdrew his dagger, and it only prompted Alfred and the rest of the men to come out from hiding to save her. Mr. Winston, Mr. Smith and he were the only ones with firearms, withdrawing them and running up to the raja.

"This is your goddess incarnate, Rajkumari Amisha Mani!" the raja boomed, holding her arm up to show his followers that they had acquired her. "She is your princess; you all love her so much because of her devotion to you! You are also drain to love her due to the holy blood we have yet to drain from her!"

"LET HER GO!" Alfred shouted, pointing his gun at the raja. Princess Amisha's face lit up upon seeing Alfred there.

"Alfred!" she exclaimed happily. When she tried running toward him, the raja held her by the hair, pulling it as her neck arched back and his dagger blade went to her throat.

"Don't you _dare_ hurt her!" Mr. Winston ordered cruelly. "We _will_ shoot!"

"We are having her blood for ourselves no matter what you imbeciles do," the raja sneered, the reflection from the fire glowing in his demonic black eyes. However, the princess began weeping silently as tears fell like rain from her eyes.

"Raja, please! You haven't a clue what you are doing!" Princess Amisha wailed.

"Hush, sacred one!" he ordered, covering her mouth with his large, dark hand.

As the princess screams were muffled, the raja's free hand took her other wrist, holding it tightly as his blade dug deep into it, drawing out the holy, youth-providing substance he was yearning for. Feeling the blade rip into her flesh, she started screaming as she felt the raja's mouth suck her blood from the wound. His eyes were closed, sucking out the fabled age-defying substance as he savored every moment. Within minutes she grew dizzy from the blood loss and collapsed on the stone floor beneath her feet. Alfred, infuriated by the sight of the raja with her blood in his proud, psychotic smile, he aimed for his leg and shot him, the bullet causing him to collapse himself. His dagger, however, flew in the air, prompting Ivan to grab it and hold it for his own self-defense.

"Amisha!" the American exclaimed, running over to her lifeless body and holding her. Her neck fell back over his arm, and Alfred's hand caressed her beautiful face gently to make sure she was conscious. Her eyes opened slowly, looking up at him weakly. He then looked at the wrist Raja Kumar Chatur had cut and sucked the blood out of—the wound was a bit deep, and it was across her wrist, but there were no more signs of bleeding, which worried him deeply.

"Amisha! Please! Princess, please! Stay with me! I love you! Don't die on me!" he pleaded frantically. "We're going to get you out of here! Trust me! Stay alive!"

"Alfred," she moaned lethargically. "I'll be…fine. Just…do what you have to."

"Oh, my princess," he said, standing up to carry her over his shoulder. One he got a firm grip on her form, he prompted the men to run toward the large door.

"RUN!" he said.

Before they could even get past the other priests, they blocked them, but Ivan, who was also armed along with Alfred, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith, fatally wounded many of them with the raja's knife. Ivan was just as tall, but his natural tendency to go psycho on people gave him the best advantage over the raja's priests. Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith also helped out, shooting dead anybody who tried getting in their way or anybody Ivan couldn't kill by himself.

The door opened to a long, seemingly endless hallway, where Alfred, running with the princess on his shoulders and a gun in his free hand, led the men down. Arthur and Matthew looked back, noticing them running after them. Alfred, looking ahead, saw another door, and he opened it, leading himself and the men out into the early morning darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

"_Ahh_!" Princess Amisha exclaimed, her body bouncing on Alfred's shoulder as he ran carrying her into the fading darkness of night. Now, it was closer to sunrise than the men and the princess thought, but nevertheless, it was still dark outside and much more dangerous—the odds of at least one being killed were much higher.

"Don't worry! Who has a light?" Alfred asked his men.

"I have a cigarette lighter," Mr. Smith said, taking it from his pocket to flick the flame up. It wasn't very bright, but it was quite a problem whenever the breeze from running blew it out.

"Damn you, lighter!" the Englishman said as they were approaching a rope-and-plank bridge over a craggily cliff connecting to another. Suddenly, Alfred, the princess, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Matthew and the older English gentlemen saw a faint torch light in the distance across the rope bridge. Standing on the other side of the bridge was the raja, standing up straight as if nothing happened.

"Black Tara! Your essence healed me!" he shouted in Sanskrit as though he were in a trance. Alfred took the princess off his shoulder and set her on her feet, holding her close and tightly to his person as he pointed the gun at the other side of the bridge.

"No, raja! The end is now!" Alfred shouted back. "You will_ never_ hurt another human being again, and your cult will be history!"

"No! YOU WILL BE HISTORY!" Raja Kumar Chatur roared insanely. "YOU HAVE STOLEN THE BEARER OF OUR JEWEL! GIVE HER TO ME NOW!"

"NO! We will not, you foul mongrel!" Mr. Winston snapped.

On the other side of the bridge, Raja Kumar Chatur was growing impatient, and in an instant, he ordered his men to rush to the other side in order to kill the men and recapture the princess. As she saw his priests running, Princess Amisha's blue eyes grew apprehended, watching as they began their attack.

"No!" she whined, burying her face in Alfred's shoulder. He held her tightly, whispering in her ear gently.

"Princess, go hide somewhere," he ordered.

"But what if you are killed?" she asked with deep concern. "What if I am taken again?"

"Don't worry, I'll fight for you," Alfred said, caressing her face. "I love you, Amisha." She smiled up at him sadly with worry. _He is now calling me by my common name_, she thought, _no one has ever addressed me like that before unless it was a relative_.

Just after she ran off, Alfred was being charged at by two armed priests with scimitars in their hands, blowing and slashing at his form with no prevail in injuring him. Alfred moved and swayed, ducked and jumped to dodge their attacks, and he put his gun to use, killing them each with a single bullet. He looked back to try spotting the princess, who was well-concealed behind a tree and a few thick shrubs. Relieved she was safe, he kept fighting as the other went about their share of the ambush.

Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith both fired their guns, aiming at the attackers. Arthur and Francis fist-fought with a few of them, beating them severely. Ivan, however, after killing a few of the raja's men, had the audacity to face the Raja Kumar Chatur himself.

"Haha, it's you. You honestly think you will kill me with my own knife?" he chuckled sinisterly.

In a fit of psychotic rage, the Russian felt his heart race and his grip on the dagger's handle. As he charged at him, the raja knew he was in big trouble—either he was meeting his match with death or he was going to severely hurt him; either way, he felt genuine fear for the first time in his life as Ivan began muttering senseless words.

"Kol-kol-kol-kol-kol-kol-kol…kol-kol-kol-kol-kol-k ol!" the Russian chanted, working himself into a violent trance.

"What is wrong with you?" the raja asked, confused by his behavior.

Raising the knife as high a he could, he stabbed him the chest so roughly that blood spurted everywhere. The raja screamed in extreme agony, but before he could fall to his knees, Ivan pushed him over the edge of the cliff, sending him to his death on the rough, rocky terrain below. Raja Kumar Chatur was now dead.

"До тех пор, мудак," Ivan said as he waved to the raja's falling body. "I feel so much better already!" Noticing the Russian standing near the cliff, everybody stopped fighting and looked at him curiously, both the men and the remainder of the raja's followers alike walked over to see what had happened.

"Dude, what just happened?" Alfred asked. "Did you kill the raja?"

"Yes, I did," Ivan confessed, looking back at the followers who immediately knew what was going on. "I stabbed him so hard and then I pushed him to his death."

Suddenly, an uproar of happiness among the surviving former followers of the evil prince and priest. Everybody hugged each other, which confused both the men and the princess, who slowly emerged from hiding upon hearing Alfred's loud voice.

"At last we are free!" a follower said in Hindi. "No more ghastly rituals!"

"No more being in a dark trance!" another said.

"We nearly killed our princess!" a third follower said. "We must make amends immediately!"

Princess Amisha came out of hiding as the morning sun began to rise. Luckily, her wrist had stopped bleeding, and she was overjoyed that the evil raja was no more. She walked slowly to the group of men, but she was delayed by the former followers of Raja Kumar Chatur bowing before her feet as if she really were the goddess the raja claimed her to be.

"Our great rajkumari, we are deeply sorry for trying to harm you and for attempting to sacrifice you to the dark spirit of Black Tara!" one of them said, tears flowing from his eyes as his Hindi sounded cracked. "We hope you forgive us, for we love you just as much as all of India does."

"The black trance made us forget who we were. We were good Indian people, devoted Hindus, but we were mislead by promises of spiritual renewal!" one of them added. "Please forgive us! Spare us the punishment!"

"Men, it is not up to me whether you are punished for this awful deed," the princess replied in the same tongue. "It would be up to my father and the Order of the British Empire to determine your fates. However, due to the notion that I should not blame the followers for one cruel royal and priest, I believe it is in my best interest to forgive any of you survivors from the attack just now. I can see the death of your leader has snapped you out of your trance."

The followers looked up at the princess inquisitively, then their feelings turned to amazement when they saw the sun rise gradually behind her, illuminating all her glory as not a black, but white goddess. That would be, of course, if she were actually divine.

"Thank you, rajkumari!" everyone said with deep gratitude before they walked off into the mysterious, newly-sunlit wilderness. Alfred approached the princess, who watched them go off into the trees, and he spoke softly.

"Princess," he whispered. At an instant, Princess Amisha turned around and threw her arms around him, crying tears of joy as he returned the hug, inhaling her sweet fragrance as he smiled ecstatically—he once thought they would never embrace, kiss, or even make love again, but he was relieved to be back in her arms.

"You saved my life!" she exclaimed. "I owe you so much!"

"I was only being a hero," Alfred said, loosening his grip to look down into her eyes. He caressed her face gently and kissed her as he held her close, twirling her around as if it were their first kiss. Their heart beat in unison, and they stopped to look into each other's eyes. The princess also diverted her attention to the other men, and smiled at them all with deep gratitude.

"Thank you all so much," the princess said sincerely. "Without you, I would not even be in the arms of the man I love right now."

"You are very welcome, Your Highness," Mr. Smith said. "First, we must get you home to Delhi!"

Following the older Englishman lead the way, Alfred and Princess Amisha's hands interlocked with each others, not letting each other go for the whole journey. Little did they know how the Maharaja would react to the sight of his daughter entering the palace with her seven heroes…


	22. Chapter 22

The journey back to Delhi was very exhausting, considering the seven men and the princess only took one break throughout the whole trip by foot. However, it was late that afternoon that they arrived in the city; it was late enough for people to start closing up their shops or disassembling their vendors and stacking their wares away for the following day, but people still recognized Rajkumari Amisha Mani as she looked worn and tired walking hand in hand with a strange blond young man. Francis was particularly intimidated by the many who had stopped just to see their princess return. Many of them bowed their heads with praying hands extended, greeted her excitedly as she continued to walk.

"The _rajkumari_ has returned!" one of the women said in Hindi.

"Has she?" the man she was speaking to asked, looking at the sight to believe it.

Cries of joy and happiness came from the people as they approached the princess and her seven heroes. Princess Amisha let go of Alfred's hand to return the favor of greeting her people, and a few small children ran up to her to hug her. Picking up a little boy of about three, she reached down and picked up another small child who was big enough to walk, putting them down afterwards as the men watched her greet her people as if they were her family. Alfred and Arthur both smiled, but the rest of the men were in awe at the fact that she practically oozed compassion.

"We are so glad you have returned!" a little girl said, looking up at the princess with her great dark eyes. Princess Amisha smiled down at her, responding in the same language.

"I am happy to be back," she told the little girl.

"Praise Shiva!" a man said, holding the princess' hand cordially after she put a child down. He placed her hand to his forehead, tears of joy running down his wrinkled, brown face.

"Yes, I am back," the princess answered.

After fifteen minutes of greeting her people, she rejoined Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Matthew and the two English gentlemen to journey even farther to the palace at Delhi. It took about an hour and a half to reach their destination, and once they stopped in front of the grand structure, Princess Amisha immediately felt as though a burden were being lifted from her. As far as she knew, there were not going to be any more suitors, no more feelings of intimidation, and best of all, no more of the Raja Kumar Chatur's presence. She felt so free to do what she desired, even though she was a princess with a very limited amount of rights.

"I am home!" the princess exclaimed with serene ecstasy, putting her hands together as if in prayer. As soon as she began running up the front steps into the palace, the men followed her with Alfred going in first, followed by Francis, Arthur, Matthew, Ivan, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith. They watched the princess look around the main hall nervously, hoping to see at least the prime minister or a few of her servant girls. The silence and lack of presence frightened her—where was everybody?

"Father? Prime Minister Chowdry?" she called out in Hindi. "I have returned! Hello?!"

"Who is that?" a familiar voice questioned.

The men were the first to notice Sadar standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at the sight of the once-missing princess as her attention caught him. His face turned to a look of happiness and surprise at seeing the ebony-clad beauty at the bottom. At an instant, he adjusted his slacks and walked down the staircase rapidly, approaching the princess much slower afterwards in order to process her image and the fact that she had returned safely.

"Your Highness," he said softly. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, Prime Minister!" Princess Amisha said. "It is me, Rajkumari Amisha Mani! Do you not recall my face?"

"I do, but…we thought you were dead!" Sadar said with disbelief.

"No, Mr. Chowdry! I am here! I am alive!" she said, hugging him carelessly because she did not have a sari covering her appropriately. The Prime Minister returned the hug and let her go, looking down at her beautiful, finely-chiseled face and intense blue eyes with happiness in his face.

"Oh, you really have returned!" he smiled. "However, your father…hasn't taken your disappearance very well."

"Why is that?" Mr. Winston asked, stepping in front of the princess. Sadar sighed and closed his eyes—this was not going to be a good answer.

"He has fallen ill," the prime minister revealed.

The princess looked at him in shock, her eyes widening with apprehension and deep concern for her father. At an instant, she ran up the stairs to the left hallway where the royal bedchambers were. Her father's door was open, and a servant girl came out of it, amazed to see her princess approach her.

"You have returned! My goodness!" she said, bowing deeply to the princess. "The Maharaja is ill. He has been for two days now."

"Has he?" the princess asked in their native tongue, her face flushing with nervousness.

"Yes, since you went missing. He has not been the same," the servant girl answered, touching her beautiful face. "My mistress! You look tired and you are dirty! Shall I draw your bath?"

"Not at this moment, thank you," Princess Amisha said, declining her request calmly. "I would like to see my father."

"Are you sure?" the servant girl questioned.

"Yes, now please let me in his bed chamber," the princess ordered.

"As you wish," the girl said.

Moving aside, Princess Amisha walked into her father's room, looking as a British doctor was checking his vitals. The Maharaja was wide awake, and he was not in his royal finery—there was no turban on his head, no bejeweled uniform, and his facial hair was neatly trimmed. He really did look different, and there was a sallow tint to his tanned complexion. His appearance made her nervous as he sat up in bed under the covers.

"Father?" the princess asked. The doctor's attention was caught by the exotically beautiful princess, and he just  
looked up at her. The Maharaja's face lit up with a joyous smile as she bent down to hug him.

"My Amisha! Darling! I thought I lost you!" he exclaimed happily, excited that she had returned. Tears of happiness streamed down his face as they shared a warm embrace of reunification.

"I was so scared, father!" Princess Amisha exclaimed, sitting on the bed with him.

"What happened to you, my dear?" the Maharaja asked his daughter, noticing the cut on her wrist the raja had done. "What happened to your wrist? It is cut!"

"Father, you will be very shocked to hear this, but the raja wanted to kill me in a ritual," Princess Amisha confessed, remembering the painful memories. "It was terrible. Ask the men who saved me! They will tell you the truth! It was Raja Kumar!"

"Good grief!" the Maharaja exclaimed angrily. "What has he done to you?!"

"He wanted to kill her because he thought her blood was the key to immortality," a familiar voice said.

The princess looked up and saw Alfred and the rest of the men standing in the doorway, entering the room one by one as they stared at the Maharaja, whose lower lip trembled with deep concern. He was eager and anxious to know what had happened to his daughter, but when he realized that his own guests had been valiant enough to save her and bring her back to the palace, he felt so full of pride.

"You saved her," he said with reverence. "You _all_ saved her, and for that, I am eternally grateful."

"We were going to obey you, Your Majesty, but because of the riot in Delhi not too long ago, we were so anxious to save her, Ivan, Matthew, and these two fine archaeologists. They were captured in the riot," Arthur explained.

"That riot was the work of the raja," Alfred said.

"I knew there was a riot, and I put a stop to it immediately," the Maharaja revealed. "I knew those uniforms looked familiar—the invaders were put in prison and they were identified as being from Calcutta. For that, they get the death penalty for attacking their own country."

"That is a good to hear," the princess said, looking into his dark eyes. "Oh, father! Why have you been so sick?"

"I vowed not to eat a single stitch of food until you returned," her father answered. The princess' eyes widened in shock.

"You have been fasting this whole time? For_ me_?" she questioned.

"Daughter, you are my life, my ray of sunshine. Without you, I am nothing, not even the supreme ruler of India. You are everything to me," the Maharaja stated, holding his daughter's hand. She looked at him worriedly, looking abck at Alfred, Arthur and Francis in particular for some kind of relief to distract her.

"Please," she said. "Eat something, father. You will only get sicker."

"Dinner has not come yet," the Maharaja contradicted.

"I can make it happen," the princess responded with determination. "Please! I have returned, and it is the only way you will be well."

"Your Highness," the doctor said. "Did you just say that eating is the only way he would get well again?"

"Why, yes. Do you understand Hindi?" the princess asked, going back to speaking English as her voice was filled with even more worry. "He_ is_ going to be alright, correct?"

"Yes, by the looks of it," the doctor replied. "He needs rest and he needs to eat. Fasting is not healthy for a man his age."

"I understand," the princess said. "Should he start to eat right away?"

"Yes, in fact, you were right," the doctor said, placing his stethoscope in his briefcase. He stood up from the bedside chair and bowed before the princess respectfully. "I will be back tomorrow, Your Highness, if needed."

"Thank you," Princess Amisha said, bowing her head over praying hands.

Alfred walked over to the king slowly, sitting in the seat the doctor was sitting in. He watched the Maharaja lay back on the pillows, looking at the men who stood before him in the room. He was well aware that he had specifically instructed the young men not to go and save her for their own sake, but because they did, he was extremely grateful and proud of them for saving Rajkumari Amisha Mani.

"Alfred Jones?" the Maharaja asked weakly, looking at the handsome, blond young man sitting by his bedside. "That is your name, is it not?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Alfred answered as Princess Amisha walked behind him and placed her beautiful, smooth white hands on his shoulders. The Maharaja noticed the natural chemistry between his daughter and Alfred as they stared into each other's blue eyes. Then, they both looked at the ruler in his bed, who continued studying them with his great dark eyes.

"I want to know about everything that happened, daughter," he commanded with a stern sigh.


	23. Chapter 23

"He believed there was goddess in me, father!" the princess wailed after twenty minutes of explaining everything that had happened to her during her time at the raja's temple. She had told him everything from the time of her kidnapping to the day she found out about her killing, and through most of it, Princess Amisha dreaded the memories so much that she broke down and started crying heavily. Alfred held her close to him to console her, but the Maharaja was shocked.

The Maharaja had trusted Raja Kumar Chatur very much, but when his daughter and each of the men gave their testimony on what happened, he was immediately struck with guilt. He felt like it was his fault because if he hadn't promised his daughter to wed the raja, perhaps she wouldn't have had a brush with a slow, painful, barbaric death. He also was guilty to be blinded by the utmost trust he held in the old prince, and for that, tears began to fall from his eyes. He took his daughters hand and started to sob from his guilty feelings.

"Oh, daughter. I am deeply sorry," the Maharaja said with sorrow. "Had I known he was an evil person, I would never have tried to give your hand to him. If I had not given your hand to him, you would never have dealt with such hardship. It is all my fault."

"No, father!" the princess responded, getting out of Alfred's arms in order to console him. "It was not your fault! It probably would have happened. Raja Kumar would have searched for me and had me kidnapped even if we were not betrothed."

"I feel responsible, daughter. I am deeply sorry. I was so blind! How could I have been so blind?!" he shouted, crying heavily. Alfred was surprised she wasn't speaking to him in Hindi, but that was only because the other men were in the room with them, providing factual evidence of the raja's barbaric plan.

"Hey, don't cry," Alfred said to the Maharaja. "He is all taken care of." He looked up, wiped his eyes, and stared at him long and hard.

"How did you…first off," he began, looking at the blood that remained on his shirt from when the raja slashed his chest. "Why is there red on you?"

"The raja guy cut me," Alfred told him frankly. "I was chained to a wall, but I managed to get out in time to save everybody else. They were held prisoner, as well. Before that, the raja infuriated me with how he was going to kill the princess."

"How exactly was he planning on killing me?" Princess Amisha aske,d turning to look at Alfred.

"He wanted to cut your wrists, throat, and to take your heart out. Then he wanted to burn your remains," he said sadly, disgusted by the thought. "They thought your blood was the key to immortality, but clearly it wasn't."

"My goodness!" Princess Amisha gasped. "Disgusting!"

"Blasted!" the Maharaja added with extreme shock and anger.

"It wasn't the key to immortality because he wouldn't have died when I killed him," Ivan said. It was right then and there that the Maharaja gasped with disbelief.

"You _killed_ him? How?" he questioned.

"With his own knife, I stabbed him in the heart, and I threw him over the cliff," Ivan said calmly. The Maharaja raised his eyebrows and grimaced slightly. "Weren't you going to give him the death penalty anyway for betraying the Indian crown by trying to kill our princess?"

"Yes, but…you…uh…well, uh…you did the job for us. That is one less punishment we have to take care of," the ruler said. "I cannot believe I put utmost trust into the Raja of Calcutta only to have his soldiers march into our capital and kill so many people just to find and imprison you. I cannot believe I trusted him to be your husband, daughter, and I cannot believe I even thought of putting him on my throne upon my death!"

"Nevertheless, it is not your fault," Princess Amisha reminded him. "Perhaps I would have happened anyway if he wanted to sacrifice me that badly."

"Amisha, dear," the Maharaja said with a breathy sigh as he began speaking Hindi in order to keep things more private with his daughter. "You must get married at one point or another. You could not rule India alone, for it is against tradition. The people would be upset that they do not have a Maharaja with their Maharani." Her eyes widened, looking at him with disappointment. How could he say such a thing to her after all that she had been through with Raja Kumar Chatur?

"Father! No," she protested calmly.

"Daughter, it is your duty. I understand you went through hell with the past suitor, but he was an evil man to the core. I was blind. Perhaps we should reconsider the son of the sheik in—"

"We are not reconsidering anybody, father!" she exclaimed defiantly, standing up to look at him lay on the bed, looking at her with his black eyes.

"Do not speak to me that way! I am your father and you will respect me," the Maharaja retorted in Hindi, confusing Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Matthew, Ivan, and the two English archaeologists. She shook her head with disbelief at her father as she made her final statement.

"How can I trust you to find me a proper suitor after the last one almost killed me?" Princess Amisha said in her native tongue. With that being said, she left the room, walking out as if nothing had happened. Her eyes were beet red from the tears she cried, remembering the harsh, painful memories of the raja nearly killing her and how she was held prisoner in his temple. Growing even more worried about the princess, Alfred rose from the chair and stood, watching her leave. _I wonder what they were saying_, he thought, _it's all gibberish to me_.

"What just went on?" he asked, looking over at the ruler in bed, who sighed as he sat up to look at him.

"I do not wish to tell you, but she still must fulfill her duty," the Maharaja said with a slightly stern tone of voice. "However, I cannot tell you men how much I absolutely appreciate and thank you for taking my daughter away from that madman. If there is any way I can reward you, please let me know."

"You don't have to reward us," Alfred told the Maharaja. Francis, Arthur, Mr. Winston, Mr. Smith and Ivan all looked at him as if they wanted to kill him. _How could we not want a reward for saving her_, Arthur asked himself. _I could use some money_, Ivan pensated. _He is crazy_, Francis said in his mind. _Has he gone mad_, Mr. Winston's thought bubble said. _Why wouldn't he accept a reward_, Mr. Smith thought.

"Please, Mr. Jones. I would do anything to repay you for the good you have done not only for me and my daughter, but for India," the ruler said, looking at the men standing in front of his bed. "Do you even realize how much our people have missed the rajkumari?"

"Yes, in fact, on the way here, a bunch of people in Delhi were greeting her," Alfred told him.

"She sure has a way with people no matter what class they are. It is almost like you all being one big happy family here in India," Arthur inferred.

"Yes," the Maharaja said. "She was always a very compassionate child. She grew up into a fine young woman. If only her mother were alive to see her now."

The following day, Princess Amisha was glad to be away from the raja and out of his temple. Luckily he was dead, so she had not another worry on her mind. However, the painful memories still plagued her; it was so difficult to forget about She was bathed, dressed in her usual finery, and at breakfast, Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith sat closer the head of the table, and were acknowledged and praised for their rescue of the princess from other guests of the Maharaja. Also, the princess was happy to see her father eating and feeling better again; despite his extreme hunger pains, he maintained a respectable manner while eating.

It was after breakfast that Alfred walked through the outer corridors of the palace. It was the hall near the garden which opened up to reveal beautiful greenery with flowers of the lethal variety. He noticed the vast garden seemed empty until he saw a familiar sitting figure in the distance. Walking out of the corridor, he approached the figure and saw that it was none other than Rajkumari Amisha Mani sitting with her eyes fixed on the numerous words of a book. Alfred sat next to her one the stone bench silently, waiting for her to notice him. Feeling a familiar presence, she finally noticed him after two minutes, looking over at him with her intense blue gaze.

"Good morning, Alfred," the princess said with a smile.

"Hello, my princess. Are you feeling alright?" Alfred questioned. She sighed, thinking about her father's wish to marry her off to someone else.

"I am unhappy, to be perfectly honest," she said sadly, closing the book and putting in on the spot next her. "I do not see why my father would insist on marrying me off to someone else I have never met nor love. If I never before have met them, how could I trust them? After what happened with me, I do not wish to face any more cruelty or hardship from another royal."

"I understand what you mean, princess," Alfred told her, taking her smooth, white hand into his. "I'd marry you in a heartbeat, but I'm not a royal of any kind. I can't give you what a raja or a sultan can."

"Yes," Princess Amisha said as they made perfect eye contact. "You have given me love, Alfred. That is more than I ever wanted from my life; was a man to love me as a woman, not because I am destined to be queen of India or some other sovereign nation."

"I did, didn't I?" he sighed, leaning over to kiss her gently, tilting her chin up. "I still am right now."

Their kiss became tender but passionate, but it was long enough to enable the Maharaja to see them from a distance as he took a walk with two of his confidantes through the corridor Alfred entered the garden through. He stopped, gasping at the sight of his daughter kissing one of the men who had saved her. As their arms wrapped in a warm embrace during their kiss, the Maharaja could not help but remember the first time he had kissed his wife, a higher-ranking commoner who was the daughter of an English ambassador—Maharani Darshwana Minakshi.

* * *

_He walked out of the palace, where a party had been taking place to celebrate the birth of Raja Ravi Adhiraj's younger half-brother, Ravi Gaajhadar Niranjan. He was the son of his father and his second wife, Maharani Rita Durgeshwari. The young Raja Ravi, the eldest of his father's children and heir to the Indian crown, hoped and prayed that the young boy wouldn't be as cruel and detached as his mother had been. The raja could distinctly remember how badly he was punished whenever he said or did something petty as a teenager, and his step-mother would often hit him with a cane to the point where he had severe bruising on his body. Now, he was a grown man and his stepmother knew it was only in her best interest (and personal benefit) not to physically abuse her stepson any longer. _

_ At age twenty-five, Raja Ravi Adhiraj looked very much like the average Indian—he was very dark, from his fine tan to his great, youthful black eyes to his ebony, snug-clipped hair. He was tall and slender, an obvious difference to his portly future self, and unlike his younger brothers and sisters, he wore clothing that was the least extravagant. He had worn a turban from the time he was able to walk, but as a grown man, he wore large, colorful pants with a strip of brightly-colored cloth wrapped over his fine, chiseled chest. He had looked more like a lesser noble, but he was content with how he looked. Also, the young raja was unmarried—the Maharaja at this time did not really concern himself with the affairs of his oldest son, his heir, which disappointed everybody at the palace. However, the prince had his eye set on a young woman he had met that night—the daughter of his father's British ambassador._

_ She had been born Elizabeth Catherine Wells, but because the British ambassador had taken an Indian woman as a wife, her mother had called her Darshwana Minakshi. The girl was only seventeen, and she seemed to have a strong-will with obvious touches of tenacity, but she still seemed fond of the young, but much-older raja. She had hair as black as the darkest night, and her eyes were like warm honey. Being half Indian, it was not unusual to have such dark features, but her skin, white as alabaster, was the attention-grabber and the most well-know feature of her magnificent beauty. She had fine, chiseled facial features—high cheekbones, large eyes, and a perfectly arched brow. Her lips were pink as flower petals, and like him, she wore less-extravagant clothes despite her father's position in society._

_ Raja Ravi had walked around the garden in search of the young girl. He did not have perfect vision in the dark, but he somehow sensed her presence because his heart had beaten even faster and his nerves began to go haywire inside, causing him to tremble even more with the steps he took. The moment he was introduced to her, the young girl had asked him to call her Darshwana, her Sanskrit name given by her mother. This he remembered her by, along with her beautiful, delicate face._

_"Darshwana? Are you here?" he whispered, loud enough so she could hear him. After walking further, he saw her standing near the stone fountain, staring at the rippled reflection of moonlight in the water. He stood there, admiring her beauty as she turned to look at him._

_"Yes, Your Highness?" she asked in her soft, but strong feminine tone._

_ The way she spoke to him, in a prevalent English accent laced with some Indian, made him yearn for her love even more, and the way she looked that evening made him desire her in ways he couldn't even explain. She was wearing a bright purple gown with a matching sari over her bosom, gold trim sewn to the uniform edges of the strip of fabric. On her feet were slipper-like shoes that were yellow in color, and on her clear, white forehead was a jeweled bindi made of gold. Raja Ravi smiled at her grandly, approaching her in a romantic fashion._

_"You look so beautiful," he told her sincerely. She just looked at him, raising a defined eyebrow to denote her skepticism._

_"Hmm," she muttered. "Did you need me for something important?"_

_"Yes, indeed it is _very_ important," the raja said, coming closer to her. She looked up into his dark, intriguing eyes and listened to him. When he took both of her hands into his, she felt strangely relaxed. _

_"I am unmarried," the raja began. "I have been searching for a wife for a long time now. I was going to request your hand in marriage, but I will not do so if you do not love me in return." She gasped at him, looking up at him curiously._

_"Are you serious?" she asked kindly. "You think _I _would make a good queen?"_

_"Why, yes!" the raja answered with enthusiasm. "I understand that we just met, but I somehow feel within that you are the perfect woman for me."_

_"I am? How so? I am only the daughter of an Englishman! And a poor woman! I am unfit for royal life!" she exclaimed with worry, looking up at him with her honey brown eyes._

_ He got down on his knees and held her hands, resting his forehead on them as he professed his love for the young woman. She stared down at him as he looked up into her eyes, confessing his feelings in such a way it sent tears of unparalleled joy down her face._

_"Elizabeth Wells." He corrected himself abruptly. "Darshwani Minakshi, your beauty gives spring everlasting youth. Your eyes give the world light; all else is in vain. Now, I find myself confessing my love to you. I love you, Darshwani Minakshi, and I hope and pray that you will be my bride and my queen."_

_ Then her tears began to fall. No man has ever used such eloquent flattery when describing her looks. Also, she had never had a man tell her he loved her as much as the young raja did. She smiled at him as he stood up, and it was right then and there they shared a warm lover's embrace._

_"I will accept your proposal," the young girl had said, looking into his eyes as he recited one of his favorite classical Indian poetry verses:_

"Moon-light face

Flower-bud hand,

Nectar voice,

Rose-red lip:

Mysteries in your heart."

_Caressing her face gently, the look in his eyes charmed her as they shared a beautifully amorous kiss under the moonlight._

* * *

The cherished memory made the Maharaja smile as he saw his daughter and Alfred showing affection to each other. He finally realized what his daughter had meant by marrying for love—he did it himself, and he loved his wife more than anybody in the world. He had an idea, knowing he needed to speak with his daughter immediately.


	24. Chapter 24

When Alfred left Princess Amisha a few moments after their kiss was over, the Maharaja walked toward her seated figure, looking as her snow white cheeks were a light shade of pink as a result of the man she loved kissing her as skillfully as he had. Princess Amisha looked up at him and began to worry—had he seen she and her lover kissing and embracing each other? The Maharaja looked around at the beautiful flowers and sighed with nostalgia.

"I remember," he began serenely.

"What is it, father?" she asked, looking up at him. He sighed again, remembering the night he confessed his love to his wife.

"I remember first telling your mother how much I loved her in this same garden," he said slowly, savoring every word that rolled off his tongue. She looked up at him, keeping her azure eyes on him with nervousness. "It was the first night we met, and I had asked her to marry me. I was just a young prince, and we were at a party to celebrate the birth of my half-brother. She stood here in the garden, the moon was high and it illuminated her beauty perfectly." The Maharaja looked at his daughter with reverence and pride. "My, Amisha, you look like her—your white skin, your cheekbones, and your beautiful black hair." The young woman sighed, looking at the lotuses growing near the garden's stone fountain. "It is no wonder Mr. Jones loves you."

She gasped. Her mind went as blank as her eyes, staring up at her father with extreme guilt. _Oh no_, she thought, _will he be angry with me for loving a non-royal? Is he going to be concerned about his succession and heir?_ She just stared at him with worry in her blue eyes as he began talking to her.

"Yes, I can tell you both love each other dearly," the Maharaja said. There was an awkward silence before the princess began speaking again—her father could tell she was anxious.

"You…saw us?" she questioned, looking up at him with trepidation.

"Yes, I did," he told her.

"Are you angry?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, in fact I am very happy to see you have found someone. He seems like a very worthy man," the Maharaja explained truthfully. Princess Amisha's nerves calmed down, and her eyes lit up subtly.

"You think so, father?' she asked, confirming his feelings about the romance between she and Alfred. He nodded, taking a seat next to her.

"Yes, I know so. I hear he is a bit of a goof, but he has a strong, brave heart. You are both fated for each other. I know it," he told his daughter sincerely.

"I owe him my life for saving me," Princess Amisha said.

"Would you marry Alfred?" the Maharaja asked. "I could reward him with your hand for rescuing you and bringing you back safely." She looked at him with disbelief—was he really saying this? Were these words really coming from the mouth of a king?

"Father, I do not wish to be someone's reward. I wish to be loved by someone. Alfred would probably accept it, but there is also a chance he will not do so because he is a college student," she explained. "It is quite an ordeal."

"True," her father said, rubbing his eyes roughly.

"But father! What about your succession? You need an heir!" the princess exclaimed, the thought having just come to her memory.

"Your cousin, Raja Ugresh Nagendra, is the son of my younger brother. He is only sixteen, but he is the only crown prince by birth who is the heir to the Indian throne. If you wanted to marry Alfred and drop from the line of succession, he would take your place. If you decide not to marry Alfred and marry someone of our status, your husband will become the Maharaja, but if you do marry Alfred, you will need to drop out of the succession so Ugresh Nagendra can rule India," he explained.

The princess looked down at her satin skirt, running her fingers over the silky golden weave as she thought of a possible life with Alfred in America. She loved him dearly and knew she owed him more than her life alone, but was she really willing to give up the lavish life she knew in India just to adapt to a new environment in the West? She had never been there, but she was aware of the unfamiliar mannerisms of Western women; they wore shoes, they wore clothing with no midriff, but what she admired about them was that they were independent and were not treated like objects. Being a princess, she was expected to be married off for a price to someone of the same class. She knew that going to America, she could be free to do what she wished.

"Drop out?" she asked.

"Yes. You cannot rule alone, and if you are a woman who decides to marry a commoner, you and your husband are not eligible to rule. The Maharaja must be Indian, so he is free to marry whomever he chooses," he told her. "It is a big decision, but are you willing to make it?"

"I am unsure. It is so drastic," the princess said. "I have never been to America."

"I am sure it is a nice place, perhaps a lot better than here," the Maharaja told her.

Just moments later, Prime Minister Chowdry approached the Maharaja and Princess Amisha holding a telegram message. It was opened, but Sadar had decided to tell the Maharaja what it said.

"Mr. Chowdry," the king said, standing up. "What is that in your hand?"

"It is a telegram from a Walter Meyer. He is an archaeologist who has been in China, and he telegraphed us to ask where his other group had been," he told him. The Maharaja's eyes widened, but the princess became sad—would this be that last time seeing Alfred?

"Archaeologist? You have told me that the five young men are amateur archaeologists, am I correct?" the Maharaja asked.

"Yes, they are actually the group he has been searching for. It says here that they have delayed the research of artifacts unearthed near the Yangtze, and upon finding out about the group's disappearance in India, Walter Meyer and his associates plan on coming here to retrieve them," Sadar explained.

"I would be glad to have extra guests at my palace," the king said, approving his request. "Please, alert the young men about this. Before they depart for China, their rightful location, we will celebrate their accomplishment of bringing back my daughter."

Sadar nodded and bowed to the royals, promptly walking to find Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, and Matthew. Luckily, they were all in the great hall, having a conversation. Arthur and Francis were arguing over a petty matter when Sadar finally arrived with the telegram message in his hand.

"Gentlemen!" he called. "I have an announcement from a…Walter Meyer."

Alfred's jaw dropped, growing excited as he heard the name. Walter Meyer, the renowned archaeologist who had been his hero and source of inspiration and admiration, had sent the Maharaja a telegram. How did he know his group was in India, or lost for that matter? _Whoa dude_, he thought as he smiled brightly, _I'm totally excited now! Walter Meyer coming to India for us? Yes!_

"Walter Meyer?!" Alfred exclaimed, expressing his excitement boldly.

"The archaeologist we are supposed to be working with?" Francis asked.

"Yes. He is coming to India to get all of you to China so they can begin research. They already have delayed the study of the Yangtze artifacts for one week," Sadar said.

"We must go, then! When is he arriving?" Arthur questioned. Sadar looked down at the message and read what Walter had said about arrival dates.

"It says he is planning to arrive on June 31 or July 2," he told them.

"That's coming up! Tomorrow!" Francis shouted. "July 1is tomorrow!"

Though Alfred was excited about the arrival of his hero in India to get them to China, he didn't want to leave the land where he met his true love. Princess Amisha had been his everything, his one love, and he had saved her from certain death—the last thing he wanted to do was leave her in order to study artifacts in China and go to America to finish up his college education. _Don't delay the inevitable_, Alfred told himself, _you will marry Princess Amisha someday_.


	25. Chapter 25

Walter Meyer and his two associates, one being a young Chinaman named Wang Yao, arrived in Delhi on July 1st. The young men stood outside of the palace with Princess Amisha, the Maharaja, and Sadar as he walked toward them with his two associates. Alfred kept a cheesy smile on his face as both the natural Indian heat and his anxious excitement made him sweat like crazy. Walter came forward and greeted Prime Minister Chowdry with a shake of hands.

"Hello, you are Prime Minister Chowdry, I presume," he said. Alfred knew his voice was exactly as he had imagined; low and stern with a playful touch.

"Yes, I am also the advisor to His Majesty the Mahajara," Sadar said, gesturing him to the royals. He smiled at both of them and bowed courteously.

"Allow me to introduce His Majesty Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj, and his daughter, Her Royal Highness Rajkumari Amisha Mani of Delhi," the prime minister said cheerfully.

He stared at the princess, taken aback in surprise of how absolutely gorgeous she was. Today, she was well-dressed in a red, midriff-bearing top with a long, flowing red satin skirt that matched, and over her head was a gold sari, framing the princess' finely chiseled facial features and the gold and moonstone bindi that rested at the top of her forehead. Her necklace was composed of teardrop-shaped amber stones set in a gold framework, and it was very intricate both in design and style.

"My Lord," Walter said, bowing before the princess one more time; he was appreciating her majestic beauty this time, looking back up at her. "You are truly a beautiful woman." Alfred looked at him in shock. _He does know that's my girl, right_, he asked himself. He was relieved to see that the princess did not say anything about his compliment, but instead stared at him, studying his middle-aged features.

Walter Meyer, though he had a heart as youthful as Alfred's personality, was a man approaching fifty with graying brown hair and warm brown eyes to match. He had a curly beard with subtle, but noticeable strands of gray. He was average, and to complete his nerdy look, he wore glasses, a button-up dress shirt with a suit jacket and matching slacks. Princess Amisha glanced over at Alfred, whose excitement rose up again due to her subtle rejection of Walter's advances.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable in my palace. A few of our servant girls will escort you to your rooms shortly," the Maharaja stated as two of his guards opened the door to let them in. Princess Amisha and Alfred let everyone else walk in front of them as they stopped to talk with each other, going along with them.

"Is he the one you told me about yesterday?" she asked in a whisper.

"Yeah, he is Walter Meyer. He's a really famous archaeologist. I'm surprised you've never heard of him," Alfred answered, looking at her.

"I know of a few archaeologists, but never before have I heard of him," Princess Amisha said.

"I saw he was trying to flirt with you," Alfred said, envy prevalent in his voice.

"He is a rather strange man," Princess Amisha admitted with a face to match. "You say you admire him?"

"Yeah, he's like my hero," he answered. "He found ancient burial grounds underneath Stonehenge! That was his huge breakthrough and he helped rewrite the course of history."

"Fascinating," the princess said. "Why is he here? My father refused to tell me why."

"He is here to…get us to China. Me and Arthur…and Francis, Matthew and Ivan the Russian guy," he admitted with a sad sigh.

"Are you leaving?" the princess asked, stopping in her tracks to stare up at him. Alfred held her close in an embrace—this alone didn't calm her down entirely, so he knew she needed words to soothe her nerves.

"Amisha." He corrected himself abruptly. "Princess Amisha, I'm actually supposed to be in China right now studying artifacts from an archaeological dig. However, I feel like fate took control over circumstances—maybe that pilot had one parachute for a reason, either to let us die in a crash or escape the plane alive and drop thousands of feet in a lifeboat with random strangers to unfamiliar terrain and be led here. Princess, I don't regret anything at all. You are so special to me I can't even describe it. I love you, and I would ask you to marry me but I know I am not ready to get married. I need to complete my education at GeorgeWashingtonUniversity and get my degree so I can become a historian or an archaeologist…then, I'll come back to India to marry you."

"I will wait. I will do whatever it takes, even if it means giving up my royal status," the princess sighed. Alfred's eyes burst open, looking down at her as she exchanged glances with him.

"Alfred, I was told by my father if I choose to marry you, I will need to give up my status in order to let my cousin take the throne of India. You are not eligible to be Maharaja because he must be born in India, yet he can marry anybody he chooses. I cannot, and therefore, since I will not be marrying a raja or a sultan or a sheik, I will need to live the life of a commoner in order to marry you if we so choose," she explained. Alfred looked down at her and nodded.

"I'll support you every step of the way," he told her, gently rubbing her back in their embrace. "By the way, you never told me what your last name is." She looked up at him curiously, shaking her head slowly.

"I do not have one," the princess revealed.

"You don't?" he questioned with a strange look on his face.

"If it makes any sense, my father's ruling dynasty is the Singh dynasty," Princess Amisha said, letting him go. "I suppose Singh would be my surname, but if not, that will be the surname I take once I give up my royal status." Alfred's hands were still around the princess' waist, looking deeply into her intense blue eyes amorously.

"I can hardly wait for that day, my princess. I love you and I want to spend my life with you," Alfred told her with a kiss to her smooth, white cheek. "We'll start a family together and we'll grow old happily. You'll be…_my_ queen." This thought made the princess smile and chuckle, her white face turning a pale shade of pink. Noticing there was nobody around to see them together (Walter Meyer, his two Chinese associates, the Maharaja, and the rest of the men had gone into the garden to socialize); he cupped her face in his hands and started kissing her.

Princess Amisha, as always, returned his passionate kiss wholeheartedly, holding him close to her as his tongue brushed her lower lip gently. The two moaned silently, wary of who was around to witness their affection. Alfred's hand travelled back down to her waist as he held her close; he could somehow feel her heart beating next to his as he stopped kissing her to touch noses. Her jeweled bindi gave Alfred a weird sensation on his forehead as they tilted toward each other, looking into each other's eyes.

"I love you," he reminded her.

"I love you, too, Alfred," she said. They walked to the garden to catch up with the other men, who were standing around. Some were curious about where Alfred had gone, and once he and the princess arrived, they all looked at him.

"Where have you been?" Matthew asked shyly. "We were getting a bit worried."

"Nah, I was just talking with Princess Amisha…I mean, Her Royal Highness. What's going on?" the American asked.

"Hmm, Mr. Jones," Walter Meyer said, approaching the young man as he placed his hands in the front pockets of his slacks. Alfred looked at him with excitement, smiling brightly. "I've heard so much about you from your professors in Washington, DC."

Alfred gulped, glancing over at Matthew nervously as he gently bite his lower lip. Walter Meyer smiled at him, noticing this weakness as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean Gregory told me you were a playful spirit, much like I was when I was young. How old are you?" Meyer asked.

"I'm nineteen," Alfred said, the smile returning to his face. "I'm so happy to finally meet you. You're the best archaeologist ever! You're my idol!" Meyer began to laugh heartily at his compliment, and he put his arm around the young man's shoulder as they sat at the stone bench.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm greatly, Mr. Jones," the man told him, grinning brightly. "I also heard that you want to become an archaeologist yourself."

"Yes, I do! Oh my God! Yes!" Alfred expressed cheerfully. Meyer kept laughing heartily, admiring the folly of the young man. "It's always been my dream to travel and discover things, and even go on an adventure or two."

"An adventurer seems like your cup of tea," Meyer said. "I think you and the dean of GeorgeWashingtonUniversity made a great decision joining the archaeology program. You seem to like it a lot, even though your destination wasn't supposed to be India."

The princess frowned to express her displeasure at this thought. If it weren't for that pilot having only one parachute for himself while leaving the others to either jump out thousands of feet below or perish in a crash, the princess and Alfred would probably have never met each other and experienced the beauty and setbacks of true love. Also, Alfred probably would not have embarked on the adventure of a lifetime, defeating an evil raja and saving the day like he had always dreamed of. She looked off into space, up into the clear blue sky as the men talked amongst each other. Suddenly, the Maharaja stopped the conversation to make an announcement.

"Gentlemen," he began. "_Young_ gentlemen, I mean. Tomorrow evening will be a very important event honoring the return of my daughter, the princess, and you all play an important role in the festivities."

"Sweet! A party!" Alfred exclaimed with joy.

"What time does it begin?" Arthur questioned. "Is there any kind of special attire we should be wearing?"

"Your best clothing," Sadar added. "Of course, it is the standard."

Princess Amisha gazed at the men curiously, but when the festivities began the following night, the city of Delhi was full of merriment as they rejoiced the return of their beloved rajkumari.


	26. Chapter 26

Colorful lanterns were lit on the city square, colored dye was painted on the faces of little children, and cheerful music played—all to celebrate Rajkumari Amisha Mani's safe return. People from all over India came to celebrate her return and to socialize with her. Temples were crowded with distraught people who prayed for her safe return after the Maharaja declared her missing, and without a doubt, they were answered.

Meanwhile, Walter Meyer and his two Chinese associates had arranged to bring Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Matthew and Ivan to China the day after the night of festivities, but for the time being, they stayed and enjoyed themselves. Meyer, curious about the situation regarding the princess, approached Alfred and Matthew during all the merriment to find out more.

"Mr. Jones, Mr. Williams," he said, addressing them primly. "Did the princess go missing? How was she returned?" The two young men looked at each other conspiratorially, trying to find an answer.

"Well…long story short, the group and I brought her back," Alfred told him.

"Really?" Meyer asked in shock of his accomplishment. "Where was she taken?"

"I don't know if we are allowed to tell you, Mr. Meyer, with all due respect," Matthew said, waving his hand slightly as he cut into their dialogue.

"It's all good," Meyer told him. "I was just curious, that's all."

"Yeah, don't mention the kidnapping in front of the princess. She gets…uh, very…well, she's traumatized from the experience," Alfred told him discreetly.

"I promise," the famed archaeologist said. "You can trust me."

"Great!" Alfred said.

"Also, I have another question. I hope it isn't _too_ personal," Meyer said. Matthew looked at the two make subtle eye contact, but Alfred decided to answer him anyways.

"Yeah, Mr. Meyer?" the American wondered. The archaeologist smiled and laughed at what was on his mind.

"About the princess…do you like her?" he questioned. Alfred began giggling, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

"Mr. Meyer," he said, still chuckling from his question.

"I saw that you and her were the last two coming out the garden yesterday. The other men and I had already made it out there," the archaeologist added. "Are you sure you weren't just talking to her?" Alfred shook his head, still laughing hysterically with a slight bit of embarrassment.

"Mr. Meyer, of course I do. I love her with all my heart," he said, answering his question as his laughing faded away.

"Won't His Majesty be mad?" Meyer asked.

"Ah, beats me. I think he talked to the princess about marrying a commoner. She would have to drop out of the line of succession," Alfred explained in brief. Walter Meyer's eyebrows rose in a shocked expression.

"Mr. Jones, you're nineteen. You're too young to get married! What about your college education?" the archaeologist asked as several happy children ran by with lit sticks that gave off sparks.

"Silly, of course I'm finishing college!" Alfred said sarcastically with a smile. "I need my degree first. Then…I'm coming back here and I'm marrying that princess. Life with her will be perfect—a couple little ones running in a big backyard, we'll have a nice house, I'll have a good salary, we'll have a dog, we'll watch our kids grow, and we'll grow old together. Everything will be the way I want it to be!"

"I'm happy to see you're setting goals for yourself, but from one man to another," Meyer said, tapping his shoulder gently with the drink in his hand. "Do not rush through life. Take things slow and appreciate everything you have. Think things through, because you may regret any hasty decisions."

"Thanks, Mr. Meyer!" Alfred said with excitement as he went of to find Princess Amisha.

His eyes wandered the vicinity, seeing Arthur socializing with Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith, while Francis was speaking sweet nothings in French to a few attractive young women. Matthew was just standing alone in deep thought with Mr. Meyer, and Ivan was drinking vodka-spiked lassie. However, Princess Amisha was talking with a few poor folk near a flower bed in the middle of the city square. They were dark and elderly with grey hair, but there was a young woman and two children surrounding her as well to converse with the coveted royal.

Alfred stopped and admired how beautiful Princess Amisha looked. Of course, she was always perceived as beautiful to the ones who had laid eyes on her throughout the day, but tonight, she was wearing different colors and she had her piercing in her right nostril. She wore an extravagant outfit composed of a bright pink midriff-bearing top and a green, gold-accented skirt made of fine silk. Her sari seemed fastened to the crown of her head, and it was the same emerald green color as her skirt, accentuating her long, loose curling black hair as it hung down her back gracefully. Just when he approached her, the people walked away, but it was only because they had finished their conversation with the royal.

"Hey, princess," Alfred greeted with a smile. "Some party, huh?"

"Yes," Princess Amisha said, looking up into his eyes.

"Even better, it's all for you," he indicated calmly, his palm grazing her cheek in a simple caress. "You look lovely, by the way." She smiled a closed grin at the man she loved.

"Thank you," she told him. Suddenly, Sadar approached the couple and gently took the princess' hand, causing their confusion.

"Your presence is needed, Your Highness. Your father is about to make an announcement!" he ordered, taking her with him. She looked back at Alfred and waved as she walked away.

"We will talk later, Alfred!" she told him.

Within a matter of minutes, the stage area set up near the city square had the prime minister standing before a large, gradually growing crowd of people behind a podium and microphone. Men, women and children of all ages gathered about, some with praying hands of gratitude, to listen to what Prime Minister Chowdry had to say.

"Presenting His Supreme Majesty, Ruler of all India, the Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj and his daughter, Her Royal Highness Rajkumari Amisha Mani," he said as the two royal walked onto the stage from their positions. Everybody cheered for his presence as the princess thanked them with a spiritual gesture consisting of a bow and praying hands. Alfred and the rest of the men watched her, looking up at her place on the stage respectfully as the Maharaja began speaking Hindi into the microphone.

"My beloved people, it is with great pleasure that I lead you in the welcoming back of my daughter, Rajkumari Amisha Mani, after her disappearance just recently. Thank the gods above for her safe arrival and those who saved her!"

The painful thoughts of being badly and irrationally mistreated by Raja Kumar Chatur reentered the princess' mind as she looked down sadly, but in order to please her people, she stood up and did the spiritual gesture again. The Maharaja was handed a pillow from a servant boy, on it being seven medals. Alfred couldn't quite see what exactly was on the red satin pillow, but he held one up and recited names one by one, handing each medal to the princess so she could place them around each man's neck.

"Roger Smith." That was the first name, and the brown-eyed Englishman approached the princess, who smiled as she placed the medal over his head and on his neck. He smiled a cheeky grin at the princess, who thanked him as the crowd cheered.

"Lewbert Winston." Next came the other Englishman, who was particularly excited as he waved enthusiastically to the foreign crowd. The medal was placed on his neck, following another statement of gratitude from Princess Amisha. The crowd cheered again.

"Matthew Williams." The shy, blond young man stood up and blushed as the princess thanked him for saving her as she placed the medal around his neck.

"Arthur Kirkland." The young Englishman smiled at the crowd as they cheered for him, with Princess Amisha placing the medal around his neck as she thanked him.

"Francis Bonnefoy." Though the Maharaja had a bit of default pronouncing his French moniker, Francis still got up and blew kisses to the crowd. When he got to the princess, he began speaking his native language.

"Puis-je obtenir un baiser avec ça?" he said flirtatiously. The princess, who was confused, looked at him strangely.

"What did you say?" she asked, wanting him to repeat himself.

"A kiss?" Francis asked, puckering his lips slightly—luckily Alfred didn't notice his seductive gesture.

"No," she said. "Please go line up with the other men." He frowned joining them reluctantly as the next name was called.

"Ivan Braginsky." The tall Russian walked over, waving to the people with a smile as he bent down to receive the medal around his neck. He smiled down at the princess, and the last name was finally addressed.

"Alfred Jones."

At an instant, Alfred walked up to Princess Amisha, who placed the medal around his neck. They shared an embrace that everyone said "aww" at, and he looked down into her eyes.

"Thank you for saving me," she told him, letting him go.

"Thank you for being my one love," he said to her. He was tempted to kiss her, but because there were people around, he didn't want to ruin her reputation.

Later that night when the festivities were over, Alfred was sitting on the bed in his guest bedroom, facing the open window and balcony as the cool, summer breeze blew into the room. The sun had set hours before, and there were still festivities and lanterns being lit in the city. He could see the celebrations still going on from a mile away through the open window, and before long, he heard a door open. Turning around, he saw Princess Amisha stand there in her finery, but she didn't have a sari covering her graceful black hair. Smiling, he waved at her slowly as the sight of her blue eyes and pale white skin got his attention.

"Hello, Alfred," she said, coming closer to him and taking a seat next to him on the bed. He looked at her, gazing deeply into her eyes.

"My princess, you are so beautiful tonight," he said. "You always are."

"I wish you were not obliged to leave," she said sadly.

"My birthday is coming up. It's on the fourth," Alfred told her, trying to get her mind off circumstances. "When is yours?"

"September 21," she told him, admiring his handsome features.

"I'll send you a gift I know you will like on your birthday," he told her, finding his arms locking her in an emotional embrace.

"That sounds nice," she said with a sigh. "Well, Alfred, it is our last night together." Getting certain, more sensual connotations in his head, he looked down at her, gazing into her vivid blue eyes lustfully.

"Yes?" he wondered in a whisper. "Do you want to make love?" She nodded, and their final together began. Moans and gentle caresses filled their nighttime hours, and every kiss, every embrace, drew them closer together. Neither time nor distance would break them apart—Alfred and his princess were inseparable.


	27. Epilogue

"Check it out, boys! The new baby is here!"

Alfred summoned his three sons to the living room to see the newest addition to the family. His wife, Amisha, had just given birth to another healthy baby boy, and though she got to see her new baby, she was still in the hospital under the care of nurses and a reputable doctor. The infant son was in a basket, and he was cooing and giggling happily. Perhaps he was glad to see his home and even happier to see his older brothers?

At an instant, Henry, Benjamin, and Andrew rushed to the room where their father was in order to see their newest sibling. Although Alfred and Amisha originally decided to have two children, the second intended child ended up being twins—Benjamin and Andrew, who had their mother's black hair and their father's childlike wonder.

"Dad?" Henry, the eldest son, asked. "Is it another brother?"

"Yeah," Alfred told him. "Don't hold him just yet. I need to feed him."

Henry, at age nine, was almost a splitting image of his father, the only difference being his dark brown hair, a trait possibly passed down to him from his Indian ancestors. He admired that his mother was a princess and that he could have been a prince had she not renounced her title upon her marriage to Alfred in 1947. His eyes were intensely blue, and he had freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose. He was of a tall, strong build; it was clearly evident he had inherited his father's extraordinary physical strength.

On the other hand, twins Benjamin and Andrew looked more like their mother. Alfred and his wife wanted another child, but instead got twins. They were both very happy, and Amisha felt so blessed to have an extra child. They were identical with their black hair, childlike faces, and curious blue eyes. They also had a unique face shape; their eyes were slightly almond-like and they looked as though their faces would be chiseled by adulthood. For such young boys of three, they looked more mature than their older brother. They also were the cause of hilarious mishaps around the house, like falling pans or breaking jelly jars on the linoleum kitchen floor. It upset Amisha, but because it reminded Alfred of when he was little—he would do the same thing.

The twins were the first to set eyes on the newborn baby. On his head were slight wisps of dirty blond hair and his eyes were large and blue. Without a doubt, he resembled Alfred the most of his four sons. Little Benjamin leaned over and planted a little kiss on his newborn brother's head, smiling down at him with his identical blue eyes.

"He's cute!" he cooed.

"Isn't he adorable?" Alfred added. "Be nice to him, now. Don't do anything silly with him. He's just a baby after all."

"How long will mom be in the hospital?" Henry asked, trying to tickle his baby brother, who laughed in response to the ticklish sensation against his soft, white skin.

"The doctor said she can come home tomorrow," Alfred told him.

"That's good news," his eldest son answered, looking down into his brother's eyes. "What are you going to name him?"

"Well, your mother insists on a Sanskrit name, but I like the name Warren," his father said, looking at his new son.

"I love that name!" Henry squealed.

"Warren? Hi, Warren!" Andrew said, touching the baby's soft head until he fell asleep in the basket. Alfred covered him up, and went to the other room to get a bottle for him. On the way, he looked up in the hallway wall and saw a photo of him and Amisha at their 1947 wedding. It was the year after Alfred had been taken under Walter Meyer's wing, along with Matthew, to become a full-fledged archaeologist.

With Meyer, Alfred and Matthew discovered ancient fertility jugs near Kenya, and they were more than ten thousand years old. They were studied thoroughly and placed in a British museum, and because it rewrote the history books, it was Alfred's big break. The three men attended press conferences, had their faces on history and educational magazines, and travelled the world in search of adventure and knowledge. In 1947, however, Alfred returned to India on his own and he remembered approaching the Maharaja's palace with a small velvet jewelry box in his coat pocket. Upon seeing his princess for the first time since 1942, Amisha was so happy to see him, but since Alfred left after that last night together before he went to China, a lot of changes had taken place at the palace in Delhi.

In 1946, the Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj had fallen terminally ill with leukemia, and he died just ten days after he was diagnosed by the same English doctor who had cared for him during his fast when Amisha was taken by the raja. The princess, distraught over the death of her father, was in mourning and faked her happiness with a smile, especially when Alfred came to propose marriage to her. Her cousin, heir apparent Raja Ugresh Nagendra, was crowned Maharaja the day after Ravi Adhiraj was declared dead. A fiery, hot-headed prince who oozed pride through every shine of his aura, twenty year-old Ugresh Nagendra addressed the unmarried Princess Amisha coldly about her position in her father's will.

* * *

_"Cousin, I must speak with you," he said sternly. The princess, who had been praying at the newly-assembled temple at the palace stood up and turned, her bright blue eyes facing her dark-complexioned cousin._

_"Yes, what is it?" she asked, morose tears streaming down her face. He walked closer to her, inhaling the sweet smell of incense in the room._

_"I hate to tell you this in front of the sanctuary of the gods, but I have been crowned as India's new Maharaja," he told her. She just stared at him; a blank, unwavering look on her face._

_"You have? Without any formality, cousin?" she questioned._

_"Yes. As you know your father, my uncle, died yesterday resulting from complications from illness. Since you are an unmarried princess who would have been the heir to the position of Maharani, you must renounce your royal status," he told her. She kept looking at him—Alfred had already come to propose marriage to her, and she accepted wholeheartedly. She would have had to resign anyways just to marry the man she loved._

_"I will do so," Amisha had said. "But on one condition."_

_"What is that, Amisha?" the new Maharaja asked._

_"Alfred and I plan on getting married here in India," she told him._

_"What does that have to do with me? Do you seek my assistance?" he asked coldly._

_"No, but I would appreciate it if you allowed me to hold the ceremony with my other family members present, including you. Alfred wants to get married here, and I agreed to it wholeheartedly. India is my home, and though I may not be the rajkumari anymore, you and the rest of the Singh dynasty are my blood. Giving up my title to marry the man I love will not change our relations to each other. People will still remember me, Ugresh. Do you not see that? Do you not see how much I loved and cared for my people as rajkumari when my father was alive? Do you even care? I do not ask for much in this world but for one thing—let Alfred and I marry here in India."_

_"I do not like parties as much as your father did, but I will. After the wedding, you must leave," her cousin ordered._

_"Done," she said._

* * *

With that being said, Alfred and his love, Amisha Mani Singh, wed in a traditional Hindu ceremony in the fall of 1947. The festivities, though they traditionally lasted for a week, lasted for only one day, and in order to understand Hindu ritual further, he read up on the subject of weddings in India and had Amisha teach him traditions that were not his own. They consummated their marriage that night, but packed to leave that morning. The Maharaja was happy to have his cousin out his hair, and he ruled India with an iron fist (not in a tyrannical way). Even after their children were born, Alfred and Amisha made two week-long trips every summer to India to visit Amisha's royal relatives. The new Maharaja was impressed with Henry and how he grew up over they years, but he also adored their twins Andrew and Benjamin. He had yet another second cousin to meet, and it was the new son.

Admiring how beautiful she was on their wedding day, wearing a gold sari and outfit with a large nose ring chained to the ring in her ear, he sighed up at the photo and prayed in his head for her health and wellness. She was in the hospital, after all.

THE END!


End file.
